One Wing in the Fire
by HosekiDragon
Summary: Hell AU. The angel Castiel is a prisoner of war, trapped in Hell with the Demon Lord brothers Astaroth and Amon. Who are surprisingly nice...
1. Chapter 1

_So people seem genuinely interested in this so I thought I'd stick it in it's own story file. I dunno when I'll update it but here you go._

_Hell AU. Really just general fan fiction, not really Destiel unless you tilt your head slightly to the left, squint just the right amount, and think dirty thoughts. Oh, and I don't own Supernatural._

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (1)<br>**

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><p>"Such beautiful hair. Such lovely, lovely hair. Like sunlight in a physical form. Do all angels have hair like this or is just you?"<p>

A fist closed around the strands of blonde hair and yanked, trying to entice a cry of pain from the owner. But the angel strapped to the rack remained silent, jaw clenched, impossibly blue eyes glaring at the stained cement ceiling.

Castiel wasn't entirely sure what had happened. One moment he had been flying with his brothers, his sword flashing with theirs, attacking the demon scum that had been trying to invade Heaven's borders. The next thing he knew there had been an incredible and blinding pain in his left wing and he'd tumbled from the sky…into the waiting arms the demon hoard. There had been blood and fighting and screaming and then darkness and fire. When things had finally settled down, he had found himself in a little cement room, bound to a cold metal table, his glowing white wings stretched out and held in that position by vicious meat hooks, his robes and armor gone.

At first there had been no one. Castiel had called for his brothers, screaming their names, praying to them, to his Father. When his cries had failed, he had turned to trying to free himself. But his left wing was broken in several places and the restraints on his body were carved with angel warding sigils. Even his Grace could not burn through them. So he lay there in frustrated silence and waited for something to happen.

For a long time, nothing had. Hours stretched into days and days melded into years. Castiel lost track of time completely. That was when the first demons had appeared. Smoky and crackling with angry power, they had seeped in through the cracks in the cement, pouring into the room and clawing at his pale flesh with burning claws. Each mark they carved healed instantly with the power of Castiel's Grace but they continued to scratch at him over and over and over again. Low level, formless demons carving their profane names and blasphemous phrases across his body, draining his Grace as they went, laughing when he snarled at them, cursed them, wished them nothing but suffering.

Finally, when they had exhausted his Grace, when the scratches would no longer heal, the demons slunk off, giggling and licking blood from their smoke-like claws. Castiel had made the mistake of relaxing and let out a sigh of relief, slumping against his bonds to wait for his Grace to renew itself so he could heal his body before the demons could return.

That was when the knife was plunged into his stomach.

It was still there. Alastor had stuck it into the angel's stomach when he had entered the room and then moved to inspect his prize. Now he was playing with the angel's hair, pulling on it, twisting it in his thin, boney fingers.

"I should scalp you and hang the prize on my wall." The Demon Lord of Torture and Suffering crooned, leaning in close to Castiel's ear.

"Scum!" The angel spat, unable to contain himself.

Alastor simply threw back his head and laughed, releasing Castiel's hair and sauntering over to a metal table full of tools.

"You know, I've never had an angel to play with before." The Demon Lord hummed, plucking up a curved blade, inspecting it, and setting it back down again, "Your kind is always so careful to make sure their _brothers_ are kept safe. It's hard to capture one of you alive." He held a paper-thin needle up to the light before rejecting it with a shake of his head, "I'm very interested in seeing what fun you can provide me with."

Castiel wanted to tell the demon that he would get no such enjoyment from him but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a strangled cry. Alastor had chosen that moment to yank the knife from his stomach and toss it back to the table with a smirk. Alastor had a humanoid appearance, just as Castiel did, but the Demon Lord's form was a horrid perversion of the human body. He was too thin, too angular, his eyes a greedy and half-mad blood red. He was bald, iron gray horns curling in a tiny crown around his skull, his pale fingers clawless, his mouth full of jagged and broken teeth, his tail a grayish, scaled thing that was thin enough to wrap around the handle of a knife and hold it just as easily as his hands.

"Not quite the sound I was looking for." Alastor said mildly, picking up a leather belt from a metal box on the table, "Maybe this will help." He held the strip of black leather up and Castiel saw that it was dotted with small, sharp nails of iron.

"No." The word slipped out before Castiel could stop himself and he quickly clamped his mouth shut. But Alastor was grinning.

"You might want to relax. It will hurt less if you do." The demon grinned, showing those horrid teeth, and leaned down. Alastor's hands were cold as he forced the belt around Castiel's middle, over his stomach, buckled tightly around the angel to click shut at his back. The iron nails tore painfully into his muscle and he let out a whimper of pain. Every time he took a breath, the nails bit into him and made him want to cry.

"Still not quite right…" Alastor murmured, looking thoughtful, "Maybe…" And he turned away.

Castiel clenched his fists, trying his hardest not to cry out, not to give the Demon Lord pleasure. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain, trying to bring up images of Paradise, of his brothers. But each time they were washed away in a flare of pain from the belt and the iron nails in his stomach. He could hear Alastor moving but it was hard to think, to anticipate, to form coherent thoughts when pain continued to shoot through him at regular intervals.

Something sliced into the feathers of his damaged wing and he couldn't help it. He screamed.

Not his wings, not his perfect wings, not his pride and joy. He didn't even want to look.

Despite his claims that he had never captured an angel before, Alastor was horribly precise about where he cut into Castiel's wings. One feather at a time, sliced as slowly as possible, drifted to the floor, and all Castiel could do was scream and beg and cry.

And all Alastor did in return was laugh.

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><p>Time ceased to exist.<p>

Castiel's whole world became the cement walls, the mind-breaking agony, and Alastor's slimy presence. Nothing else existed. The Demon Lord had a talent for causing maximum pain with minimal damage, living up to his name as King of Torment and Suffering.

Castiel hated him. Hated Alastor, hated demon kind, hated Hell with a fury that he had never had before.

But he was also terrified. And the terror was more powerful than the anger and pushed aside the fire like a wave of ice cold water. Castiel flinched at the sound of Alastor's voice, whimpered at his touch, screamed at the demon's will. Alastor played him like a harp, pulling and twisting his strings until Castiel screamed with the perfect pitch that made the Demon Lord laugh happily.

Sometimes he left and in those moments, Castiel was left to drift in a sea of agony. His injuries pulsed with the beat of his dwindled Grace, each beat of pain a wave that rolled across his mindless consciousness. The angel could hardly think anymore, to hurt and broken was he.

And then, something changed.

When Alastor reappeared one day (second, morning, month, evening?), Castiel turned away, whimpering in fear, prepared for more suffering. But there was someone else with him. A demon, taller and broader than Alastor with impressive, curling black horns that shone like obsidian stood at the Demon Lord's shoulder, peering at Castiel. This new demon was humanoid as well, but far less so than Alastor. His skin was a deep, deep crimson, his fingers tipped in shiny black claws, his eyes were an angry emerald green, and his thick tail was tipped in a steely black arrowhead. He was dressed in a black leather duster with too many straps criss-crossing his bare chest, his black jeans studded down the sides in silver spikes, and a crown of spikes and volcanic glass sat upon his ruffled black hair. Clutched in one hand, he carried a thin scepter of black iron and topped with small, red ruby that glowed dimly with an angry red light. The oddest part was the demon's face; it was wrapped in an odd assortment of straps and belts, leaving only his eyes and mouth free, as though he was ashamed of his own features.

"He's very pretty, even after you've carved him up." Where Alastor's voice was oily snake venom, this demon's voice was gruff and edged in broken glass and cracked pavement.

"I thought you would like him, Amon." Alastor was grinning, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the other demon circle the angel, "You and Astaroth do like your pretty things."

So, the new demon was in fact Amon, the Demon Lord of Wrath and Revenge. Castiel watched him without interest through slitted eyes as the demon's green eyes traveled across the angel's torn and ruined flesh. Then they settled on the wings. A clawed hand came up and brushed the ruined feathers and Castiel twitched away automatically, moaning when the meat hooks bit into his wing.

"I like him." Amon said in his gravelly voice, "Can I have him?"

Alastor's face immediately fell into a grimace, "No. He is mine. I captured him. You don't even fight in the war with Heaven. If you want an angel so bad, go pick one out yourself."

"I want this one." Amon growled and his voice was thunder in Castiel's chest.

"No." Alastor spat again, "Mine."

Amon growled again and the ruby on the end of his scepter brightened in his anger. But he seemed to control his temper because his lips parted in a smile, showing a mouthful of perfect, sharp teeth that were too white on his dark skin, "I will trade you."

Alastor looked at him suspiciously, "Trade me what?"

Amon appeared to be thinking. Castiel watched him, half-heartedly wondering what in the world the Demon Lord of Wrath and Revenge could possibly want with him. Alastor lived to torment and cause as much pain as he could, it made sense for him to want the angel to remain in his possession. But what would Amon do with him? Be angry at him all the time?

"You can have Meg." Amon finally said and Alastor snorted, a noise of dissatisfaction, "Aaaannnddd Azazel. I never liked that asshole anyway." Alastor crossed his arms and raised his head, wordlessly demanding more, "Fifteen souls from my harem." Alastor's eyebrowless forehead rose, telling Amon to keep going, "And ten of my soldiers."

That seemed to satisfy the Demon Lord of Torment because he uncrossed his arms and thrust a hand out. Amon huffed and clasped the other demon's hand in his own, giving it one shake before letting go and turning to Castiel.

"Good news, angel, you've got a new home."

How in Heaven's name was that good news?


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm just going to post all the chapters that were originally in "Wings and Things" and then continue from there.  
><em>

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (2)<strong>

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><p>It took longer than anticipated to peel Castiel off the rack. The meat hooks were carefully removed from his wings, the belts with the iron nails were delicately tugged from his skin, and the heavy cuffs that had bound him were gently pulled back. Even freed from the anti-angel sigils, Castiel was too weak to try and lash out as couple a of nameless demons hauled him out of Alastor's lair and dragged him towards what looked like a carriage. It was black and decorated in silver and red and was drawn by four massive black dogs made of smoke and charcoal. Hell hounds.<p>

Then the carriage door was opened and Amon was hauling him into it, wrapping a blanket around the angel's naked form, fingers brushing the damaged wings. Castiel cringed away from him and it was only then, as the carriage set off, that he saw the other demon sitting across from them.

He was taller even than Amon with ghostly pale skin and dark violet rings around his completely black eyes. The lower half of his face was covered by a leather and brass gasmask sort of contraption, the straps vanishing in the curls of his short, dark brown hair. Three bronze horns curled from his head, two to either side of his forehead and one larger in the middle. His hands were folded in his lap, black claws tapping lightly against the metal rings on the backs of his fingerless gloves. He wore only a dark jacket opened at the waist, held closed by a single bronze button, a pair of loose fitting pants with the ends tucked into heavy boots, and a cloak that looked more like a pair of folded wings, the fingers a dark violet, the "membranes" a pale, sickly imitation of the royal color.

"What've you got there, Amon?" The new demon's voice was clear, even through the mask, and had an almost childish, inquisitive quality about it, ringing like shattering glass.

"An angel." Amon said eagerly, rubbing his hands together. Sparks leapt from his palms and Castiel flinched.

"Not for your harem…" The other demon said in an exasperated tone.

"No!" Amon sounded offended, "Hells Bells, Astaroth, get your head out of your ass. He was with Alastor and I was just looking and I had a really good idea."

"Really?" Astaroth sounded skeptical, his thin eyebrows rising. Castiel was honest to God ready to scream with the fearful wariness building up inside him. Not only was he now the prisoner of Amon but now he was also at the whims of Astaroth, the Demon Lord of Fear and Chaos. This did not bode well.

"I was thinking we could try an experiment." Amon was sounding far too eager, "Okay, so, human souls in Hell eventually become demons, right?" He didn't wait for an answer, just plowed right on, "So I was wondering…we should see if an _angel_ would become a demon too."

Castiel didn't need to see Astaroth's face to know the Demon Lord was smiling, the way his dark eyes crinkled up at the edges said enough, "Well, well, that does sound like fun." He turned those pitch black eyes on Castiel and the angel flinched, "Alastor's kind of ruined him though, hasn't he. The guy might book it the second he gets the chance." Astaroth leaned forward, stretching out a hand, and Castiel pressed himself against the soft seat of the carriage, trying to stay out of the demon's reach.

But it was to no avail. Astaroth clamped his hand loosely around the angel's neck. There was a hot sensation, a glow of violet-blue light, and then Astaroth sat back, looking satisfied with himself. Amon leaned forward to peer at Castiel and the angel couldn't help his curiosity. He raised a trembling hand and felt around his neck. His fingertips brushed leather and cold metal and he realized he was wearing collar. He belonged solely to these Demon Lords now. There would be no escaping.

His hand fell with a whimper and he closed his eyes. He had already given up hope that his siblings would save him and now he let go any hope of ever getting out of Hell at all. Beside him, Amon let out a snort.

"So, angel, I can't just keep calling you angel. What's your name?"

Blue eyes snapped open and turned to look in wonder at the Demon Lord. Alastor had never asked, he had never cared. The angel swallowed, opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally managed to push out,

"Castiel."

His voice was ruined. What once had been a harmonious melody of silver bells and raindrops on the roof and a singing choir was now a rough tear in his throat. He would never sing with the Host again, his voice was a rasp of pain, a guttural, demonic sound that shamed him and made him want to hide.

"Castiel." Amon repeated, trying the name out. A forked slid out from between his sharp teeth as he rolled the "L" off of it, "Caaaasssssstieeeeellll. Cas. All right, Cas."

Cas.

They were even taking his name away from him.

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><p>Castiel was honestly surprised to learn that Amon and Astaroth shared a castle and that they had combined their regions of Hell into one region. It was against their nature for demons to team up, to be partners or even allies. The only reason one demon would work with another would be because there was something beneficial in doing so. The Demon Lord Asmodeus, Lord of Ambition, Greed and Desire, was notorious for this. He even went as far as to pull humans into his scams with a whole other persona; Crowley, King of the Crossroads. He had been hunted for a long time but no one had ever found him.<p>

The surprise must have shown on his face because Astaroth let out a low, throaty chuckle as he stepped out of the carriage and into the courtyard, "You're probably wondering why Asmodeus and Alastor let us get away with this, huh?"

Castiel nodded mutely, looking up at the foreboding structure of stone and metal twisting above them.

"It's because we didn't want to have anything to do with their stupid pissing match against Heaven." Amon threw in, leaping out of the carriage and spinning his scepter in his fingers, "If they wanna pick a fight with you winged dicks, let 'em. I'm more interested in having fun."

"What Amon means," Astaroth said with a smirk in his voice, "Is that in exchange for leaving us out of the war, Asmodeus and Alastor allowed us to combine our regions and share a fortress."

"Why?" The word tumbled from his lips and Castiel didn't understand it. Why did he care?

Amon blinked his impossibly green eyes at the captive angel, "Because we're brothers. What, you thought only you feathered folk could have _siblings_? Ha!" The Demon Lord let out a harsh laugh, waving some demon servants over to take care of the carriage and the hounds, "Typical…"

Castiel felt a million questions boiling up inside him at this revelation but he stubbornly pushed them down. Astaroth pressed a hand against his back and the angel jerked away, staring at him wildly. Astaroth simply nodded forward and when Castiel looked around, he saw Amon waiting impatiently by a large stone door, tapping a booted foot against the cobblestone with a scowl on his belt-crossed features.

"It would be best not to keep the King of Wrath waiting." Astaroth murmured with a humorous undertone and Castiel scurried as best he could on injured legs towards the other Demon Lord.

Through the stone doors, into a large entrance hall lit with warm electric lights and carpeted in deep crimson, silver, and gold. Up the main flight of stairs, through twisting halls lined in weapons or shelves of books, always with a warmth permeating the place, like a warm fire comforting every nook and cranny. They finally stopped on what Castiel counted as the fifth floor and looked to contain the Demon Lords' chambers. The hall was brightly lit, there were several statues of both Amon and Astaroth doing various things (clutching humans souls, looking studiously upon a scroll, slaying some monstrous beast), and only a couple of doors.

"This is my room." Amon declared, thrusting a hand against a wooden door inlaid with gold designs, "And that," He pointed across and a little down the hall, "Is Astaroth's. That door," He pointed to a heavy looking marble one at the far end of the hall, "Is my harem. Don't go in there."

Castiel wondered what the point of this was.

Amon looked up and down the hall and let out a snort, "And this," He clapped his hands together, fire sparking between his fingers, and pressed them against the wall next to his door, "Is your room." The rock wall beneath his hands warped, caved, and finally formed a second wooden door, inlaid with simply silver swirls that formed a delicate pair of wings. Amon turned and grinned at Castiel as though he was proud of himself, "There you go, Cas, a room to yourself."

Castiel did not move, keeping the blanket drawn tight around him, despite the pain it was bringing by crushing into his broken wings.

"Ground rules, before anything else." Astaroth said smoothly and Castiel glanced up to find the Demon Lord's black eyes on him again, "You can wander anywhere in the castle unless we say otherwise; the collar will stop you from stepping outside these walls and prevent you from entering anywhere we don't want you." Castiel nodded slowly to show he understood. Astaroth continued, "You will spend time with both myself and Amon, whenever we see fit, otherwise you are free to do as you please. You can't harm anyone here, that's one of the big ones; just don't hurt anyone."

Castiel's brow furrowed but he nodded. Demons—and the Demon Lords of Wrath and Chaos for that matter—not wanting to see people hurt was a strange concept. He would try to figure out their trickery later.

"You will eat our food," Astaroth said seriously, "You will wear our clothes, you will obey our laws and customs." His voice softened and those black eyes looked a tad less scary, "If you need anything from us, just ask. We'll do what we can to get it for you."

"Healer." Castiel's treacherous mouth said in a weak rasp. Then, as if realizing how weak he really was, his legs gave out from underneath him. He tensed, prepared for the hard impact of the floor, but it never came.

Steely arms coiled around him, hefting him up, and he raised his head weakly to see Astaroth standing over him. The demon looked back impassively and Castiel briefly wondered if he had imagined the softness in the demon's gaze.

"Hey!" Amon was shouting, his thunderous voice ringing down the stairs as he leaned over the banister, "Someone get a medic up here! There's an angel that needs his wings patched!"

If there was anything else, Castiel didn't catch it. For the first time since he had been dragged into Hell, he felt his mind slip away into blessed unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

_So, Castiel is living with a couple of Demon Lord brothers. Putting it together yet?  
><em>

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (3)<br>**

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><p>When Castiel opened his eyes, he saw only a wash of soft blue lined in gold. He blinked several times, trying to understand what it was. Then, slowly, he realized it was the canopy of a bed. He pushed himself upright, feeling silken sheets beneath his fingers, and looked around. Translucent curtains hung against the posts of the four poster he lay in, open to the rest of the room.<p>

It was pleasant enough, if a bit gaudy by Castiel's standards. The walls were the pale gray of the stone, the carpet a deep gray, there was a table by the window, a couple of deep blue chairs laced in gold thread, a dresser with a stereo system sitting on it, the doors of what was possibly a closet, and a large, flat television hanging across the room from him. Castiel blinked at it in wonder. It looked completely out of place.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and took a moment to assess his injuries. They were mostly healed, wrapped in careful bandages and tenderly stitched together again. His wings were a different matter. New feathers had already begun to grow back but without his Grace, the process was slow. The healer who had patched him up had bound his left wing, setting the bones back in their original position with delicate precision. Castiel swallowed, unsure about how to feel about this supposed kindness.

The door to his room opened and he spun about in a panic, blue eyes wide as he stared at the demon who had entered. She froze, still holding the bowl of warm water in her hands. The angel and the demon stared at one another for a moment and then the demon blinked and said,

"Lord Amon and Lord Astaroth are in the dining hall. They will be pleased to see you are awake."

Castiel did not trust himself to say anything so he nodded once, slowly.

"You should probably get dressed."

It was then that the angel realized he was completely naked and hurriedly hid himself behind his right wing.

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><p>Demon clothing, Castiel decided, was not to his liking.<p>

For some reason, Astaroth and Amon seemed to have a great affinity for numerous amounts of useless belts and straps on their clothing. The majority of their servants were the same way and Castiel could only imagine the horrors that went on in Amon's harem.

As it was, he was forced into the same garb and instantly wished for his robes back. A pale blue, button down shirt covered the bandages still wrapped across his chest (demons were not apt at healing, especially angels) and a pair of black pants sagged around his ankles, even with the five belts looping across his waist. But the worst part, he decided, was the stupid coat. It was too big for him, with belts lashed across the upper arms and across the chest, and it reached down his knees. The demons called it a trench coat. Castiel called it ridiculous.

After he had dressed, his wings passing easily though the fabric of the clothes as if it wasn't even there, the demon girl led him from the room. He followed her silently, observing in greater detail what he hadn't earlier. There were other demons milling about in the halls, some bearing armor and weapons, others carrying trays or scrolls or stacks of books. Some had collars of red or black around their necks; Castiel supposed that the red ones were the property of Amon while the black likely belonged to Astaroth. He briefly wondered what color his own collar was.

The dining hall, when he arrived, was a ridiculously large room with an arched ceiling stretching overhead and dotted with three different chandeliers, all lit with electricity. A fire was roaring needlessly against one wall in a massive fireplace but most of the room was dominated by a long, polished wooden table. At one end sat Amon, digging eagerly into a plate of bloody meat. At his right sat Astaroth, delicately slicing his own meat into small chunks though he had not eaten anything yet. Slightly put off by the sight, Castiel slid into a seat at the opposite end of the table, farthest from the Demon Lords, tense, feathers ruffled.

"Cas!" Amon sounded pleased as punch as he looked up at the angel, "Join us!"

Castiel looked down at the plate of meat that had been placed in front of him and then turned back to look at the Demon Lords,

"I…thought that demons did not need to eat." Just like angels.

"We don't" Astaroth said in his mild tones, popping open one of the valves on the side of his gasmask, "We simply enjoy the sensation." With that, he raised a fork to the hold in his mask and dropped a piece of meat in. Castiel did not enjoy the sounds that came from the other side of that mask.

"Eat!" Amon gestured wildly, teeth showing in a bloody grin, the belts across his face stained with the meat he'd been feasting on, "Eat, Castiel, eat!"

The angel once again looked down at the food before him. He felt no desire to consume it so he gently pushed it away, "No thank you. I do not need to eat."

Amon froze and his green eyes blazed, "It will help you heal." The Demon Lord growled.

Castiel, known for being one of the most stubborn of his regiment's soldiers, crossed his arms over his chest and did not move. Amon let out a low, rumbling growl that rattled the dishware on the table. Astaroth calmly picked up a crystal decanter and filled his gold and glass goblet with dark wine before drinking deeply, ignoring his brother's temper.

"Eat." Amon commanded, the word hot lava and burning coals between his teeth.

"I will not indulge in your demonic rituals." Castiel replied flatly.

A popping crackle filled the air, like breaking bones, and, in a rush of air, Amon's wings sprang from his back. They were massive things, metallic black and blood red veined in a deep crimson and violet, tipped in meat hooks that raised sparks against the stone as they spread. They were a huge, intimidating force and Castiel's own wings wanted to flare in return but he kept them pulled in, refusing to answer the challenge. He had no power in Hell.

Amon glared at Castiel for a long moment, those wings poised wide open and motionless. Then, with a snarl, he spun away and stomped from the hall, wings collapsing against his back so he could fit through the door and slam it shut behind him. Silence for a moment and then a furious roar that made Castiel flinch rang through the stone walls.

"Great, you've made him lose his temper." Astaroth said coldly and Castiel turned to him, "There's no telling how long he'll be pitching a fit now."

"I will not apologize." Castiel's response was clipped but his bravado abruptly dropped to the pit of his stomach when Astaroth turned those black eyes on him.

"We are trying to be _nice_." Astaroth hissed, "You're not a slave here, angel, you're a _guest_. Amon is going out of his way to be hospitable and you are stomping on that. If you do not wish to have your wings torn from your back and hung like trophies on my brother's wall then I suggest a slight change in attitude."

And then, as if nothing had changed, the Demon Lord turned back to his meal and calmly continued eating. Castiel remained frozen in his seat, lodged there by terror and astonishment.

How far above "slave" was a "guest"?

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><p>By the time Amon had calmed down enough to put his wings away and reenter the dining hall, Castiel had made an attempt to eat some of the meat. It was uncomfortably juicy but the taste was better then he expected. He had eaten half before deciding that was all he could handle and pushing his plate away.<p>

But the Demon Lord's eyes lit up with pleasure when he saw that Castiel had at least tried so that was something.

After the plates had been cleared and Amon had finished consuming an entire, flat dished treat he reverently called a "pie", he and Astaroth pushed back their chairs and got to their feet. Castiel followed suit, winching a bit as he shuffled his feathered wings.

"What activities did you plan for today?" The angel asked. Heaven was run on a strict set of schedules and rules, everyone kept busy, there was always something going on, something to be done.

But Amon simply stared at him like he'd suddenly grown another head, "Activities? Plan? Dude, lighten up. We're Lords of Hell, we do whatever we want, whenever we want."

"We have to deal with some souls today, Amon." Astaroth cut in smoothly and his brother scowled at him, "Castiel can join us in that, it will be good experience."

There was an unfinished end to that sentence. Something that went along the lines of, "for when he becomes a demon".

Castiel shuddered at the thought but there was little he could do. Imagine if his brothers ever found him (though doubted they were even _trying_ to look for him by now) and he was a demon. They would simply smite him on the spot. The thought filled Castiel with cold dread and he wished that he had died on Alastor's rack because that probably would have been better than what was going to happen to him, no matter how nice it seemed now.

"Cas, you all right?" The angel blinked and looked around to see Amon's emerald eyes staring into his own blue ones.

"Y-yes." The angel dropped his gaze, fearing the Demon Lord's rage, "I just…this is Hell and I…"

"I get it, you're scared out of your mind." Amon reached up a clawed hand to clap Castiel on the shoulder, remembered the angel's injuries, and instead opted for patting him on the head, "'S okay, we have that effect on people." And he sauntered off, tail swinging, pausing at the door to see if the other two were following him.

Astaroth brushed past Castiel, the hem of his wing-like cloak brushing the angel's legs, "Come on, no one's going to hurt you. I promise."

Castiel swallowed and hurried to keep up, walking just behind the two Demon Lords as they turned down the stairs, "Do you treat all your "guests" to this much attention?" He asked uncertainly.

"Only the ones we really like." Amon answered, "We like to try new things, experiment, play around, see how fast we can turn a human soul." He grinned, showing off his mouthful of sharp teeth again, "Sometimes me and Ashy compete to see who does it faster. I usually win."

Castiel had a moment of confusion before he realized that "Ashy" was Astaroth. Apparently giving people nicknames was just something Amon did and had nothing to do with taking away one's given name.

"Like I said," Astaroth said, a smile in his voice as he looked over his shoulder at Castiel, "We prefer pleasure over war."

"And turning souls into creatures of evil is fun?" There was a condemning note in Castiel's voice that he didn't bother to hide. He was an Angel of the Lord. These were demons. They were evil, no questions asked.

Amon stopped and whirled on him, shoving right into the angel's personal space until Castiel could feel the heat of hellfire flaring off the demon's soul. Hellfire and…something else. But before he could put his finger on it, the Demon Lord was growling in his face.

"It's better than war." Amon ground out, "It's better than fighting for no reason at all. And, what, you think these souls are innocent? You think they don't deserve the hellfire and the brimstone and the taste of ash and the burn of hot cinders? They're the worst of humanity; murders, adulators, thieves, the lowest scum of the human race. And compared to what Alastor and Asmodeus do to them, they get off lightly by coming to us. You should see what happens to the ones who make deals with Crowley if you think simply turning them into demons is horrible."

With an angry snort, the Demon Lord turned away and stalked down the rest of the steps towards a door opening to the outside. Castiel swallowed and looked to Astaroth who looked blankly back before turning away to follow his brother. Castiel trailed after him, not sure what he should be feeling. Amon had claimed that he and Astaroth were being merciful with the souls they got from Earth and, based on the time he had spent with Alastor, Castiel was having a hard time doubting them.

But he still did not want to become a demon and lose his Grace. He did not want to fall like his brother Lucifer, the brightest star in Heaven who had rebelled and crashed to Earth.

He did not want that.

He was shaken from his thoughts by a warm breeze across his face. Castiel looked up and saw a burning red sky overhead, peppered with heavy black clouds that rained spat ash and lightning. A high wall topped in iron spikes surrounded what looked like the barracks for an army, though it was a small place compared to the soldier barracks on Heaven's front lines. The buildings were squat, stone structures set against the wall, leaving a wide open space like a marching ground in the middle. Huddled in this space was a group of terrified human souls. Castiel estimated their number to be about fifteen. Perhaps another part of Amon's and Astaroth's bargain had been a smaller cut of the souls.

"Line them up." Astaroth commanded and a couple of demon soldiers weeded through the group, lining them up in a ragged line before backing away again. The humans looked at the two Demon Lords with absolute and utter fear. Castiel didn't blame them.

Amon stepped forward and Castiel noticed that he had made his wings appear again, though they were folded loosely at his back. The Demon Lord of Wrath and Revenge liked to intimidate when he could.

"Scrawny batch, aren't they, Astaroth?" Amon muttered, raising his scepter and sticking it under one of the human men's chin to force the man to look him in the eye.

"Looks like it, Amon." Astaroth replied, black eyes sweeping the group. No one would meet his gaze, "We might have to speak with Alastor and Asmodeus about giving us a fair portion. Just because we don't fight in their war doesn't mean they can short change us."

The man Amon was peering at still would not look the Demon Lord in the eye. His fervent gaze darted around, looking for an escape, and eventually lit upon Castiel. The angel blinked his blue eyes and titled his head as he gazed at the soul. Even with his Grace weak, he could still see every misdeed the man had committed; murdered innocents in a grocery store to steal pocket money, another dead for the paper in his wallet, the list went on.

"Help me." The man pleaded, "Please, I beg forgiveness! Please, angel, I pray to Lord our God, Almighty Father in Heaven, please, please, save me!"

Amon looked over his shoulder at Castiel and grinned, "What, the angel? Hey, Castiel, come here."

Trepidation filled Castiel but he moved forward all the same, stepping warily up to the Demon Lord's side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Astaroth leaning into another soul's personal space as though attempting to have a close quarters staring match with them.

"Yes, Amon?"

Amon reached out his free hand and hooked his claws into the collar around Castiel's neck, hauling him forward until their shoulders touched. Again, Castiel felt the hellfire in Amon's tainted soul blazing bright and again, he sensed something underneath it but the demon's claws so close to his throat were a bit distracting.

"See this?" Amon jerked at the collar and the man who still had the red stone pressed under his chin nodded, "This means he's ours. We're experimenting, see, to see if we can turn an angel into a demon. He can't save you. You're being punished, asshole, for all those murders you committed, for all those lives you ruined, for all the innocents you sent to Heaven before their time!"

The man looked absolutely terrified and Amon soaked it up. Revenge. This was his treat, Castiel realized. The brothers terrorized the souls, drowned them in their own wrongs until they had taken their fill. What happened then, the angel didn't know.

"I'm sorry…!" The human souls were crying, begging, falling to their knees, "Please, I'm sorry! Forgive me! I didn't mean to! Give me another chance! I won't do it again! I had no choice! Please, please, _please_!"

Amon stepped away from the soul he'd been tormenting, his fingers still in Castiel's collar, and looked on in satisfaction as the souls before him wept bitterly at their fate. He looked to Astaroth who also appeared to be smiling but it was hard to tell behind that mask. Amon turned to the soldiers waiting on the sidelines.

"Throw them in the Pit." He commanded, "Let 'em stew in there for a couple of days and think about what they've done."

The soldiers obeyed, hauling the screaming souls to their feet and dragging them out a small, wooden side door. As it slammed shut behind them, Amon let out a satisfied snort, smiling to himself.

"Um, Amon…" Castiel said tentatively.

"Hm?" The Demon Lord glanced at him in a disinterested sort of way.

"Uh, could you…possibly let me go now?"

Amon frowned as though trying to understand what Castiel meant until he realized that he'd been hauling the angel around by the neck the entire time. He chuckled and released Castiel, stepping back to dust his hands off and head back into the castle. Astaroth brushed passed the angel to follow his brother and sent a crinkled-eyed look that was supposed to be a smile over his shoulder, beckoning with a long finger to tell Castiel to join them.

The angel trotted after the two Demon Lords, now more scared of them than before. But he was also confused. He had just seen some of the terrifying power of Amon and Astaroth up close but at the same time, the two bothers were showing him an unprecedented amount of kindness. They were treating him more like a pet than a guest; feeding him, patting him on the head, dragging him around everywhere. But despite all that, despite the hellfire he could see burning in their souls, he sensed something else.

There was more to the Demon Lords than they had shown him.

But what it was, he did not know.


	4. Chapter 4

_Oh yeah, for new comers, there is shoddy sketch art of this on my dA. There is more, but I have to scan them yet.  
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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (4)<strong>

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><p>Over the course of the next several weeks, Castiel was either on his own or with either Amon or Astaroth. During the times he was on his own, he wandered freely about the castle, trying his hardest to ignore the angry and sneering glares of some of the demon servants.<p>

And either the Demon Lords' palace was bigger on the inside or the rooms kept changing because just when Castiel thought he had explored every inch of one hall, when he went back the next day he found a door he had missed before. Sometimes, when he reached for a door handle, the collar around his neck would tighten painfully and wouldn't release until he backed away. But it only happened a couple of times.

When he grew tired of wandering, he would retreat to either his room or the massive library he had discovered. When he asked Amon about it, the demon had laughed and said that it was Astaroth's as if that was a reasonable enough explanation. Castiel did not press him for information, still fearful of the Demon Lord's wrath, and continued exploring.

He made several acquaintances within the castle. The demon woman Ruby who was given to Astaroth by Asmodeus as a peace offering and had become something of Astaroth's on-again, off-again girlfriend, the nervous and twitchy Chuck who kept records of every soul in the Demon Lords' possession and wore a bruise purple collar (the same color as Castiel's, the angel discovered) which signified that he belonged to both Amon and Astaroth, and finally Barry, the head of the hell hound stables, who allowed Castiel into the pens to watch the monstrous beasts prowl their cages.

But he remained closest to Amon and Astaroth.

The two brothers were drastically different. Where Amon was a wild force, willing to try anything new head on, charging in with little thought, swinging between moods of joyous teasing and brooding silence, Astaroth was almost his opposite. He enjoyed new experiences, same as his older sibling, but he observed before taking part, he was more cautious but more willing to trust than Amon, eager to spread his circle of friends, but was a chilling force when it came to his duties as a Lord of Hell.

With Amon, Castiel could expect something akin to "adventures". The Demon Lord of Wrath and Revenge would take him to the Obsidian Garden behind the castle and race him in flight (once Castiel's wings had healed completely) between trees of volcanic glass and rock arches, he would passive-aggressively force the angel to eat with him, and he especially enjoyed brining Castiel along to pick on the new souls, to show him the progress from human to demon.

When he was with Astaroth, the times were quieter. Castiel learned demons customs and politics. Astaroth taught him that the cleaning of horns and wings was as intimate to the demons as touching wings was to the angels, that bargains and trades were often made with the other Demon Lords to keep the tentative and strained "peace" across Hell, that the particularly nasty souls, the worst of the worst, were dropped into The Cage where Lucifer was sealed for all eternity, a ritual to keep away the boogey man. Even demons had to be scared of something.

Together, Amon and Astaroth would show Castiel the ropes of the castle, the inner workings that made the two regions run together smoothly. Amon's half of the region was angry geysers, fissures of skin burning steam, lakes of molten lava, and jagged structures of volcanic glass and steel. Astaroth's half was the stuff of nightmares; heavy fog, flickering lights, noises that came from nowhere, black shadows that crept across the ground without bodies, screams of soulless things echoing off the dead trees of stone and glass. The castle was built on the border between the two, taking in a little of both, and Castiel could see how easy it was to break down a human's soul in a place like that.

What he didn't understand was the technology.

"Why do you have a castle full of human toys?" He asked one day at the dinner table. He now sat a little closer, across from Astaroth but not quite next to Amon, "It seems terribly…out of place. Like the wrong time period."

Amon laughed and even Astaroth chuckled before answering, "They're fun. Watching television and playing video games are a great way to pass the time but mostly it's convenient. Imagine having to light candles _all the time_. Too much work."

He still didn't know what to make of the demon brothers' behavior. They were generally nice to him, true, but there had been several times when Amon had lost his temper and smacked him across the room or Astaroth had once given him a glare so cold that Castiel had sworn his soul had frozen. He was still scared of them but they were all he knew, all he had, and so all he could trust as solid.

Until, after a month and half of living with them, he woke up to find something had drastically changed.

As an angel, Castiel did not technically need sleep but he indulged in the activity in the same way and reason he did with eating. Because the Demon Lords wished it. And besides that, he found the experience to be somewhat rejuvenating, especially after a day with Amon.

But when he opened his eyes that morning, he instantly knew that something was different.

At first, Castiel couldn't put his finger on what it was. His Grace had fully recovered after a couple of weeks at the castle but the collar prevented him from using it in all but healing himself. So when he awoke with the feeling akin to being covered in something oily, he immediately probed outwards with his Grace, wings ruffling as he tried to discover what the source was. Nothing became apparent.

Disconcerted, the angel rose from his bed and stepped to the full length mirror beside the window, intending to check his body for signs of damage he might have missed after his race with Amon. To his horror, he discovered that the problem was not with his flesh but with his _wings_. His gorgeous, perfect wings.

Ashamed, humiliated, and crushed, Castiel dove back into the bed, yanked the translucent curtains closed, and wrapped himself in the blankets, fighting back tears of anguish.

His wings…his wonderful God-given wings…

A knock on the door made him jolt but he did not rise.

"Cas." It was Amon. The Demon Lord opened the door and looked around, "Cas, are you seriously still sleeping? Come on, you lazy ass excuse for an angel, we're going down to the Pit today to check on the new souls I threw in there."

Castiel did not move from the bed. Instead, against his better judgment, he muttered out a pathetic, "Go away. I do not want to do anything today."

Amon let out a low growl, "I don't care what you want and don't want." The demon tore the hangings aside, green eyes glowing behind the countless straps across his face, "Get up. Now."

"I…I cannot." Castiel could feel Amon's glare on him through the blankets and he peered out from underneath them, fearful blue eyes taking the tense stance of the Demon Lord's frame. He quickly hid himself again, "Please, Lord Amon, I do not want to go out today."

"What the hell is wrong with you! You never call me that!" Clawed hands dug into the blanket and tore it from Castiel's body, "What's wrong, huh! Something you eat not agreeing with you?"

Castiel exploded from the bed in a combination of fury and distress. He thrust his wings forward, feathers erupting into the air, spreading them wide around Amon so the demon could get a good look at them.

"My wings!" The angel cried, voice aching as he shouted at the Demon Lord, "My beautiful wings!"

"What about them?" Amon apparently was as thick as Astaroth joked he was.

Castiel grabbed a handful of feathers and pulled them so they were directly in Amon's face, "Look at them! This is what you have done to me! You! You and your sordid brother did this to me! I am _tainted_! I am _corrupt_!"

Amon stared at the feathers in front of him for a moment and then realization dawned on his features. Castiel's wings, once pure white and glowing, were now a dull gray, flat and matte like drywall or the very stones of the castle itself. The demon raised a hand and deftly plucked a feather from one of the angel's wings, turning it over in his fingers. A grin spread across his face and he showed every one of his sharp teeth in his glee.

"Perfect. So an angel can be corrupted." He hummed happily, dropping the feather to the floor to peer up at Castiel's wings, still spread out for him to see, "I wonder how far this will go…?"

"It will not go any farther!" Castiel shouted and Amon's attention snapped back to his face, "I refuse to stay here any longer! Release me and let me return to Heaven! Let me reunite with my brothers so I can wash the demon taint from my Grace!"

"Insolence!" Amon snarled and he was suddenly on top of Castiel, straddling the angel, holding him to the bed, clawed hands pinning down those dulled wings, "You belong to me! You belong to Astaroth! You can't ever go back to Heaven!" His own wings burst from his back and seemed to fill the room with their angry power, "You're stuck here with us for the rest of eternity! I should throw you into the hellfire for this! I should let the hounds tear at you!"

As Amon continued to bellow out all the things he should do to Castiel, the angel himself was staring in wide-eyed fascination at the demon's soul. It was still wrapped in fire and bared wire, still writhing with the flames of hell and the black pits of rage, but there was a _light_ in it. A soft, muted, golden-green glow that flickered like a dying candle, vanishing amongst the raging coils of hellfire only to reappear again for a brief instant. Castiel watched it in wonder. That light…it almost felt…

"Amon!" Both demon and angel looked around to the door where Astaroth was standing, looking like a cross between disgusted and angry, "He is not for your harem!"

"I wasn't doing anything like that!" Amon shouted back, sitting back on Castiel's legs, wings partially folding in, the meathook-like ends catching fabric and tearing it, "It's the dick's fault for pitching a fit." A horrible grin suddenly spread across Amon's features, similar to the one he had worn earlier, "Check it out, Astaroth, I think we're starting to taint the little fellow."

Astaroth still looked a bit peeved but he strolled over all the same. He leaned in close to Castiel's wings and angel watched him with a mixture of emotions boiling inside him. He had never felt anything like this before; he was angry with the demons for tainting his Grace, he was hurt by Amon's actions, he was ashamed and saddened by his ruined wings, and he was scared of what they would do to him now.

"Interesting…" The Demon Lord of Fear and Chaos murmured, running a clawed hand over the feathers, "I wonder if the feathers will shed to be replaced by membranes or if this is the extent of the change." Those pitch black eyes turned one Castiel, "What does it feel like?"

Castiel let out a groan as though someone had physically injured him, "It is shameful. My wings were my pride, they were considered very beautiful by my brothers. And now they are tainted with demon scum." He closed his brilliant blue eye, " It feels as if some black worm is burrowing deeper and deeper into my Grace. I did not—I _do not_—want this." He turned a pleading gaze on the demon brothers,

"Please, let me go home, please. Let me return to my family…"

"No." Amon growled, sliding off of Castiel and pulling his own wings back in, "You're not going anywhere." And with that, he shoved past Astaroth and left the room, tail grabbing the handle to slam it shut behind him.

Castiel groaned aloud again and curled his tainted wings about himself as if this would fix everything.

"I'm sorry about him," Astaroth's voice said from outside of the curtain of feathers, "I think there is a small fraction of him that still remembers what it was like to be human and he is somehow still aware, however minutely, that he can never go back to that life."

Castiel's wings parted in a flurry of graying feathers, his blue eyes wide as he stared at Astaroth, "He was human once? The Demon Lord of Wrath and Revenge was once a human soul?"

"Eons ago." Astaroth muttered, shrugging his shoulders as if this was a detail of no importance, "So was I, I think, but I cannot recall it as Amon seems to. And I'm not even sure he does. I think he just feels things sometimes. Anyway," The Demon Lord straightened up, "You should probably stay out of his way for now so you're going to spend the day with me instead."

Castiel actually wanted nothing more than to hide in his room all day but he knew that would not be the wisest decision. Instead, he got dressed and followed Astaroth from the room, watching the wing-like cloak hanging from the demon's shoulders sway as he walked.

So.

Amon and Astaroth had once been human.

The explained it then, the odd sensation he'd been sensing beneath their hellfire, the flickering light he had seen in Amon's soul. His humanity was still there, hidden and wrapped in agony and rage and a needless desire for revenge. Watching Astaroth, Castiel searched the Demon Lord's soul for a sign of that humanity and, yes, sure enough, there it was, a golden- white light flickering in and out of existence, barely making itself known through the fire and brimstone.

But it was still there.

The more time Castiel spent with the Demon Lord brothers, the more his Grace would become twisted and darken until he too began to succumb to demonic whims.

But the more time that Amon and Astaroth spent around him, the more their former humans souls would be drawn to his Grace.

It was only a matter of time.

Perhaps this was his answer. Perhaps this would be how he escaped.


	5. Chapter 5

_If you guys don't get who the brothers are after this one, I will throw myself out the window because I obviously have terrible writing.  
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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (5)<strong>

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><p>"What is underneath Astaroth's gasmask?"<p>

Amon looked up from where he was busily prodding at a piece of volcanic glass with his scepter, slowly twisting it into a new shape. At the moment, it just looked like a misshapen horse with too many legs.

"What?" The Demon Lord asked.

"What is underneath Astaroth's gasmask?" Castiel repeated.

It was genuine curiosity, a question he'd been wondering at since he had first met the demon brothers. But it had taken Castiel almost a year to work up the courage to start asking questions.

A year of captivity in the castle.

A year belonging to Amon and Astaroth.

He had been silent for most of that year, especially after the episode with his wings, only speaking up when there was dire need to. Whether he spoke or was silent didn't seem to matter much to either Demon Lord but since Castiel had begun to ask questions, Astaroth had been a tad warmer to him and Amon was less likely to start shouting at him.

It was a year to the day that Castiel had been taken away from Alastor and brought to the castle. He didn't know how long in total he had been in Hell but it hardly seemed to matter anymore. The demon taint on his Grace had spread and there was so much of it now that there was no going back. His wings had gone from gray to black over the course of the year, the feathers now a sleek ebony that gleamed like the obsidian rock formations around the castle.

"What's under…Astaroth's mask?" Amon repeated, "You're seriously asking that?"

"Yes." Castiel responded, slightly confused. Of course he was asking that, "I have never seen him remove it, I was simply curious."

"So why don't you ask him?" Amon asked slyly.

Castiel didn't answer.

"Aha! You are scared to ask him!" Amon proclaimed and went back to prodding the volcanic glass in front of him. They were in the Obsidian Garden, spending the day outside of the castle because Astaroth was having another cataclysmic fight with Ruby and it was best to stay out of their way when the two got into a spat.

"He is the Demon Lord of Fear." Castiel said flatly, frowning a little, "I think I have the right to be afraid of him."

Amon simply chuckled and did not look up from his work. The misshapen horse was now beginning to look more like a dragon. Castiel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pulling a strand down to inspect it in an almost habitual manner. That had begun to change too; his hair had once been like gold, bright blonde strands of sunlight. Now it had begun to turn brown, darkening slightly every day.

"It's a mouth." Amon said suddenly and Castiel looked at him. The Demon Lord was scowling, poking even harder at the volcanic glass to get it to do what he wanted.

"What?" Castiel was unsure whether Amon was talking about the statue or was answering his question.

"Underneath Ashy's gasmask, it's a mouth." Ah, the question then.

"I suspected that." Castiel tried to keep the exasperation from his voice. He wanted to follow up with more questions—what kind of mouth? Is it full of teeth? Why does he keep it covered if it is just a mouth?—but he had learned quickly that pushing Amon was a dangerous thing if he was not in the mood. And Castiel had not yet learned to read the Demon Lord quite that accurately.

"Astaroth's the Demon Lord or Fear and Chaos, right?" A rhetorical question but Castiel nodded anyway, "So usually his creepy ass eyes are enough to scare the pants off some poor soul—no pun intended. But sometimes he has to bring out the big guns. Ah!" Amon stepped back from his work, tilted his head to the side to inspect it, frowned, and began prodding it again, "That's when he takes his mask off. There's this…stuff that comes out of his mouth, like smoke or something, and if you inhale it you get stuck in your worse nightmares until Ashy decides to pull you out."

"You've seen it?" Castiel asked in a low voice, suddenly even more terrified of Astaroth than before.

"He tried it on me once." Asmon said and his tone was so flat that Castiel knew this was not a memory the demon liked remembering.

"I'm sorry." Castiel said.

"What?" Amon lowered his scepter, turning his green eyes on the former angel. There was confusion there. The end of the Demon Lord's arrow-tipped tail curled in on itself in his wonderment.

"I…I said I was sorry."

"For what?"

"For…" Castiel paused, brow furrowing slightly because he was not really sure what he had apologized for, "I am sorry that your brother would do something like that to you."

"It didn't work." Amon muttered, turning back to his work. It was definitely starting to look like a dragon now, "We were arguing, we used to do that all the time. I think it was about Ruby because I hate that bitch. Whatever it was about, we were arguing and the whole castle was shaking and nobody wanted to come near us. It ended up in a full blown fist-fight and then Astaroth took off his mask." The Demon Lord shrugged one shoulder, tail curling in even further, "It didn't effect me, probably because we're both Lords of Hell or something, but the fact that he _tried it_ on me…" Amon shook his head and kept speaking, as though he wasn't even aware of what he was saying.

But Castiel's attention had been drawn to something else. Amon's soul. The human spark he had been monitoring over the course of the year was pulsing. It was pushing its way through the fire, desperately trying to get to the surface, reaching for the light it still saw in Castiel's tainted Grace.

"…and he apologized to me for _weeks_ afterwards and wouldn't go anywhere near Ruby for a while like _that_ made it better. He's my brother, you know, he's _Sam_, and I'm supposed to take care of him but when he's an idiot I just can't—."

Castiel jerked and stared at Amon, "Sam?"

"What?" The Demon Lord blinked and he stared back as Castiel, "What about him?"

"You said…you called him…" A strange, gleeful sort of wonder bubbled up in Castiel. Hope, he realized, and quickly tried to quell it because hope was not something for him to feel, not yet.

Amon continued to stare at him in a confused manner, "Cas, you all right?"

Castiel fought to find something to say, to keep this moment, because if he could hold on to it then maybe it would be enough to pull more of Amon's human soul out. It might even be enough to get him to remember his human life completely.

"Sam." Castiel said again, carefully, treading on eggshells, "Your brother, Sam."

The green glow of Amon's eyes had dimmed and Castiel swore they looked more human, "Sam…" The Demon Lord muttered, "Sammy…"

There was a loud crack and the dragon statue split down the middle, the volcanic glass shattering against the hard cobblestone of the path. Both angel and demon jumped and looked around at it for a moment before turning back to each other.

"What were you saying about Astaroth?" Amon asked as if nothing had transpired.

Castiel felt crushed. The human part of Amon's soul had vanished again, buried in hellfire and steel barbed wire.

"Nothing…" The former angel murmured quietly, "Just that his…choice of companionship is rather silly."

Amon let out a burst of laughter and kicked the broken obsidian out of his way, "Yeah, well, try telling him that. I've been saying that to his face for _years_!"

The Demon Lord continued to chatter, walking down the path of the Gardens, Castiel following obediently in his wake, eyes on the ground. Amon had remembered, for an instant, Astaroth's human name.

Closer, the human soul had been closer to the surface.

Castiel just needed more time. He hoped it wouldn't take until he was completely a demon to make the two brothers remember who they really were.


	6. Chapter 6

_If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm quite the fan of Shadow Hearts: Covenant. Amon, Astaroth...and now Veles. There you go, disclaimer.  
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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (6)<strong>

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><p>The day that Castiel met Veles, it was raining.<p>

Well, the hell equivalent of raining which was drops of liquid fire pouring from the sky. When Castel had awaken and seen the fire spraying past his window, he was sure that no one would be going outside. But the demons were like children and a lot of them burst through the doors to run through the raining fireballs. Even Amon and Astaroth were looking more pleased than usual.

"Come," Astaroth took Castiel's upper arm and steered him towards the door where Amon was waiting, "There was a new litter of hell hounds born, we're going to inspect them."

"Hell hounds breed?" Castiel was baffled. He was under the assumption that the beasts simply sprang into existence.

"Of course," Astaroth gave him a bemused look; the demon could convey an incredible amount of emotion simply with his eyes, "Where did you think they came from? A stork?"

But when they reached the door, Castile balked. To get to the hell hound pens, one had to cross the courtyard and it was currently raining streaks of fire that splashed across the cobblestones. Castiel did not want to go out in that. Amon, on the other had, was already out in it. His wings were spread wide, his head tilted back, the flames lashing across his face and wings and chest and rolling off as if it really were rainwater and not fire. Castiel didn't think that the flames would be so agreeable with him.

Astaroth seemed to understand this fear because he tightened his grip on the angel's arm in a comforting sort of way. There was a soft rush of air and Castiel found himself under the cover of a wing. He looked up at it, followed the arching violet fingers, and found it springing from Astaroth's back, the exact colors of the Demon Lord's cape. He had never seen Astaroth manifest his wings before and there were every bit as intimidating as Amon's.

"Will this be shelter enough?" The Demon Lord of Fear and Chaos asked in a warm tone and Castiel nodded mutely. Together, they set off into the rain-fire. Castiel pulled his black wings close against his back, even though Astaroth's large wing spread over his head sent the fire tumbling harmlessly to the ground. It was hard not to be a little worried; he had seen angels with their wings aflame. It was not a pleasant thing.

It was only after they had ducked into the safety of the hell hound pens and Astaroth's wings had returned to the Demon Lord's back as a cloak that Castiel relaxed. Amon was at the other end of the pens, talking animatedly with Barry. The hell hound keeper was a burly demon with a stubby tail and iron ram's horns curling out the sides of his head. His bare forearms and tail were covered in scratches and there was a particularly nasty scar across his face. He not only kept the hounds but he also trained them and hell hounds were not the easiest thing to tame.

"…good bunch of pups." Castiel heard Barry saying as they approached, "Big strong ones, like war machines, they are. Except…"

"Except what?" Amon peered at Barry, squinting his eyes between the belts on his face.

"There is _one_ problem." There was a tentative edge to Barry's voice. He leaned over the edge of the pen he was standing in front of, yelled over the yipping snarls that came from the other side, and then withdrew, "_This_ is the problem."

Held between two of his large fingers, dangling by the scruff of its neck, was a hell hound pup. It was a tiny thing, barely bigger than pencil case, with a smoky, grayish body instead of the usual pitch black and large, molten red eyes that actually didn't look all the threatening. It simply hung in Barry's grasp, staring at around at them, it's unusually long tail curled up between its hind legs. Castiel thought it actually looked kind of cute.

"It's _tiny_!" Amon scoffed, leaning closer and prodding the pup with a claw. The hell hound sniffed his finger, yipped, and then snapped at it, "At least it's got some bite to it…"

"Not even half as much as its brothers." Barry grumbled, shaking the pup so that it swayed between his fingers, "It's a pathetic runt." He looked to his master, "What should we do with it?"

Amon looked to Astaroth who shrugged. Castiel was a little surprised, he thought for sure the demons would have said destroy it. Anyone else would have.

"Maybe we should give it to Crowley." Amon sniggered.

"That would only piss him off." Astaroth sighed and Amon laughed, saying that was the point.

"May I have it?"

The two brothers looked around at Castiel. The angel had never asked for anything in the year he'd been with them, simply taken what was given and quietly accepting what was not.

"You want a hell hound runt?" Amon asked skeptically, "Why?"

Castiel remained silent because he didn't really have a reason. He dropped his gaze from Amon's face to the floor, unable to find an answer. Astaroth chuckled, reached over, plucked the pup from Barry's hand, and held it out to the former angel. Castiel blinked at him and then gently took the tiny creature in his arms. The tiny thing squirmed in his arms, yipping loudly. It was surprisingly heavy, despite its smoky appearance, and the smoke itself felt like warm water across his skin.

"Whoa, hey, Cas is smiling!" Amon cried, pointing dramatically at the angel, and Castiel realized that, yes, he was smiling. A little.

"What are you going to name him?" Astaroth asked and at first, Castiel thought the Demon Lord was joking. But when he looked up and met those pitch black eyes, it was clear that Astaroth was being completely serious.

"I can name him?"

"Yeah," Amon snorted, crossing his arms, "Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, whatever, whatever, whatever. Just not Rudolf."

Castiel's brow furrowed slightly, "Why would I not name him Rudolf?"

"It's a…no, Cas, it's a song." Amon tried to explain, "It's a Christmas song that humans sing."

Castiel blinked and tilted his head slightly, "I don't understand."

"It's fine," Astaroth assured him as Barry muttered something about sappy soap opera moments and ducked into one of the hell hound pens, "Just name him whatever you'd like."

Castiel held the pup out and looked at it, at him. He was perfectly still again, staring at the angel with those absurdly large red eyes. A pink tongue suddenly lolled out of his mouth between teeth of tiny steel and he appeared to be smiling.

"Veles." Castiel said, pulling the pup back to his chest where its tiny steel claws tangled with belts strapped across his front, "His name is Veles."

"A being born from the unclean darkness," Astaroth was smiling again, "A creature that breeds ill will and steals reason. You are very clever in your naming, Castiel."

For some reason, Castiel felt immensely pleased with himself.

* * *

><p>He was feeling less pleased after several hours with the hell hound pup.<p>

Veles lived up to his pedigree in all but size. And the fact that he was more apt to be vicious towards the furniture than people. Well, furniture and anything that trailed across the ground like scarves or robes. Or wings. The feathers of Castiel's wings sometimes brushed across the carpets of the castle, especially when he was feeling lazy or upset, and Veles had taken to pouncing on them. At first it had been funny, a game almost. The hell hound would leap at the feathers and Castiel would twitch them out of the pup's reach and Veles would pause, looking around for his target before the whole thing started all over again.

But Castiel got tired before Veles was done. He had turned away, reaching for one of the books on the shelf in his room, when a sharp pain made him spin back around again. Veles had clamped his steel teeth onto a mouthful of Castiel's feathers and was not letting go. No matter how high the former angel lifted his ebony wings or how much he shook them, the stubborn hell hound refused to release the feathers in his mouth. And Castiel loathed to pull the feathers out, they were too big, too important for flight, and would take too long to grow back.

He was trying to coax the hell hound to let go when the door burst open and Amon strolled in, Astaroth at his heels,

"Hey Castiel," The Demon Lord of Wrath bellowed, "We were thinking of going on a hunt! How would you like to—whoa!" Amon ducked as a feathered wing was suddenly thrust in face.

"Please remove him." Castiel said through clenched teeth.

It too the two demon brothers a moment to realize what Castiel was talking about. And then Amon started laughing as he caught sight of Veles dangling from the feathers at the end of the angel's wing.

"It is not funny, Amon, it is very painful." Castiel scowled at the Demon Lord, "Please remove him from my wing."

"I'm sorry, Cas," Even Astaroth was chuckling, one hand pressed over his gasmask as though he was hiding the smile that was showing clearly in his eyes, "But…it is actually kind of funny."

"I do not think so." The former angel muttered, shaking his wing in their faces, "I cannot get him to let go. Please help me to remove him."

"Hahaha, here, I'll show you a trick." Amon's laughter pealed out and he reached for Veles' muzzle, "Barry showed me this once when one of the hounds decided to try and take a chunk out of my leg."

The Demon Lord pressed his first finger and thumb against the corners of Veles' mouth, pinching slowly and gently until he had forced the hell hounds' jaw apart. Veles squirmed in the demon's hand, tongue lolling, yipping sharply at Amon for running his fun.

"Here," Amon held out the squirming hell hound puppy and Castiel scooped Veles up in his hands, pulling him close to his chest. The hell hound twisted and licked the former angel's chin.

"Haha, hey, he's smiling again!" Amon pointed out enthusiastically. Apparently, the showing of emotion pleased the Demon Lord to no end for no conceivable reason.

"We should start a tally." Astaroth said lightly, eyes crinkling at the corners which meant he was smiling, "Or have a feast since this is the first time I think we've seen him actually smile."

"Feast!" Amon roared, raising a hand to the ceiling and turning to stalk out the door, his pointed tail sweeping back and forth. His voice echoed down the hall as he shouted, "Feast! We're having a feast! All of the steaks and potatoes! And pie! Lots of pie!"

Astaroth chuckled and motioned for Castiel to follow. The former angel obediently trotted after the taller Demon Lord, still holding the squirming Veles in his hands. All in all, this was probably the best day he had had in Hell. And that was saying something.


	7. Chapter 7

_What's the phrase? One step forward and two steps back?_

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (7)<strong>

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><p>Amon had told Castiel to never, ever enter his harem. And Castiel had obeyed those orders mostly because he had no desire whatsoever to <em>see<em> said harem.

But three months after meeting Veles, on one particularly slow afternoon, the Demon Lord of Wrath and Revenge apparently changed his mind.

That slow afternoon he was lying on the floor on the Recreational Room—a circular room with a soft carpet floor and all sorts of electronic play things, including the largest television screen Castiel had ever seen. He was flat on his back, wings spread out across the floor as far as they would go, fingers turning a metal set of puzzle rings over and over in his hands in the air above his chest. Veles, who had grown slowly over the past three months and was now the size of a regular hell hound pup, was pawing lazily at the feathers of his right wing with one paw. He still tried to take Castiel's wings in his teeth every so often but every time he did the former angel would quickly smack him with said wing and that was usually enough to stop the pup.

Castiel's hair was now a deep chocolate brown that was slowly edging towards black, the demon taint on his Grace digging in further and deeper than ever. He could feel it, writhing inside him like a poison. And yet, somehow, it didn't bother him. Just like it didn't bother him that Amon had been ranting for nearly an hour about how completely pointless and dull the day was. Astaroth had, once again, gotten into another spat with Ruby and this time had managed to take out part of a wall in his frustration. Castiel, who had never seen the younger Demon Lord lose his temper, was keeping well hidden and out of the way.

"Hey, Cas," Amon said abruptly from his seat against the wall, there was no furniture in the Recreational Room.

"Yes, Amon?"

"I'm going to take you to see my harem."

Silence for a moment and then, "Oh."

"What's the matter, Cas?" Amon's voice had a joking tone in it, "You're not _scared_ are you?"

"No." Castiel replied flatly, frowning at the ceiling. He felt Veles nip at his wingtips and snapped it at the hell hound's jaw. Veles let out a disgruntled grumble and put his head on his paws, trying to beg.

"Then let's go." Amon leapt from the wall, grabbed Castiel's sleeve, and used his demonic strength to haul the former angel to his feet and drag him out the room. Veles trotted after them, long tail wagging and tongue lolling out between his iron teeth.

"Amon," Castiel murmured as they mounted the stairs, the Demon Lord still clutching at the fabric of the former angel's trenchcoat, "I am…uncomfortable with this."

"What, they don't have harems in Heaven?" Amon flashed a grin over his shoulder, the belts lashed across his face twisting as his lips peeled back to reveal rows of sharp teeth, "Never did a little 'cloud seeding', Cas? Didn't get your wing kink on, mm?"

Castiel felt a heat creeping up his neck and blossoming in his cheeks and averted his gaze. He could have told Amon that angels did not indulge in such vulgar activities. But that would have been a lie, "I never found the time. We were at war with Hell, there was no time for…for cloud seeding."

"All right, all right, don't get your feathers in a bunch." Amon chuckled, slowing as they reached the large door to his harem. But as he reached a clawed hand towards the handle, he froze and rounded on Castiel, "Wait, are you telling me you're a _virgin_?"

The hot feeling on Castiel's face deepened and he shuffled his feet across the floor, dropping his gaze once again to sweep along the walls. His ebony black wings fluttered in what he realized was embarrassment and a small puff of feathers drifted to the carpeted hall floor.

"Holy _shit_, Cas, you're a fucking _virgin_!" Amon let out a barking laugh that rang down the hall, tail lashing behind him. Veles started barking and jumping around the hem of Castiel's trenchcoat as the Demon Lord roared his amusement to the rafters. Castiel frowned, embarrassment changing into a chagrined disapproval.

"There is nothing wrong with being pure, Amon." The former angel huffed, wings bristling behind him and making him look like a puffed up, angry bird.

"Being _pure_!" Amon howled, nearly doubled over in his fit of mirth, small tears of liquid fire bubbling over the belts on his face, "He calls it _being pure_! Somebody stop him, I'm going to die! I'm going to die laughing! Hell-fucking-fire, Castiel!" And he collapsed into another gasping round of laughter, arms wrapped around his middle, his arrow-tipped tail tearing streaks into the carpet behind his boots as he pounded it into the floor.

"Amon," Castiel had gone beyond annoyance and was starting to feel genuinely hurt, "I would very much appreciate it if you stopped laughing." The Demon Lord kept it up and Castiel scowled, shoulders hunching and wings flaring, "Amon. Amon, please stop."

There was a sudden snarl and Amon's laughter abruptly became a yelp of surprise as Veles leapt at him. The hell hound's paws thudded into the demon's chest and they both crashed to the floor. Veles was snarling, smoky body swirling, claws batting at Amon's face as the Demon Lord tried to get his arm up and block the hound's assault.

"Get him off! Ow! Fuck, Cas, get him—aaahhhggg!"

Castiel leapt forward, not even sparing a thought to wonder why Amon hadn't simply blasted Veles into oblivion. He wrapped his arms around the hell hound's middle and hauled him off of Amon. Veles calmed almost immediately but his ears remained flattened against his skull and his iron teeth were showing in an angry snarl. Castiel set the hound down and snapped at him to go wait in his room. Veles slunk away, tail between his legs, smoky hackles puffed up, glaring and growling over his bulky shoulders as he went.

That done, Castiel instantly returned his attention to Amon, who was curled on the floor, hands pressed against his face. He knelt by the Demon Lord's side and set a hesitant hand on his shoulder, "Amon? Are you all right?"

"Don't look." It was a painful, weak sound that hissed from underneath Amon's hands and Castiel was shocked by how scared and how _human_ it sounded. He chanced a glance at the Demon Lord's soul and, sure enough, the light was flickering through again, wavering and pulsing with a forgotten terror. Something had scared the humanity that still lingered in Amon.

Castiel thought he had a pretty good idea of what it was.

"Amon," He said in what he hoped was a soothing voice (it was hard to tell, his voice had become as guttural as the Demon Lords'), "If Veles hurt you, we should get you to a healer."

"I said don't look." Amon growled. He still had not moved from his position on the floor and Castiel could see dark crimson blood beginning to drip through the demon's fingers.

"Amon—."

"Go away."

"No. You are hurt."

"Get away from me."

"No."

"Go. Away."

"No."

"I said," Amon hissed, "Go. AWAY!"

Wings exploded into being, meathook ends scraping the stone walls and raising sparks. The force knocked Castiel backwards and his own wings flared to try and catch his balance. He slammed against the opposite wall and let out a gasp and his feathers crunched painfully together. And then he gasped again when he saw Amon. The Demon Lord had dragged himself to his feet, seething in anger, forked tongue licking at the blood around his lips. But what stole Castiel's attention was Amon's face.

Veles' assault had torn free several of the belts that had criss-crossed Amon's features and left them scattered on the floor and dangling down the sides of his face, caught with remaining belts or on his horns. The face beneath was—dark crimson skin and sharp teeth aside—undeniably _human_. It was not a mockery of a human face, like Alistar's. It _was_ human. The green glow of rage was still in Amon's eyes but, cast against his full features, Castiel could clearly see the humanity they had once held. The former angel stared openly at the exposed face of the once human Demon Lord and his Grace swelled against the taint in it, pulsing, tendrils reaching for the confused and terrified light in Amon's hellfire coated soul.

The energies brushed and something unreadable flitted across Amon's face.

At the same moment, Castiel knew, without even the shadow of a doubt, what Amon's human name had been.

And before he could stop himself, before any part of him could start screaming that it was a bad idea, his lips had parted and a single word had drifted out on the barest hint of a whisper that still seemed as though it had been shouted to the Heavens,

"Dean."

Several emotions flashed through Amon's eyes in a very small amount of time; confusion, understanding, shock, recognition, and then an unbridled fury.

He let out a scream that no human throat could have made and launched himself at Castiel. The former angel barely had time to throw his arms up defensively before the Demon Lord came crashing down on him. Wings beat against him, hooked ends tearing into clothes and skin, fists beat at him, and that ruby tipped scepter pounded against his skin.

When it was over, Castiel was left curled on the floor much as Amon had been a few moments earlier, arms wrapped around his head, knees to his chest, wings twitching. His eyes were squeezed shut and it was probably for the better because he would not have liked to see the horridly furious expression on Amon's face that was twisting those human features into an ugly mask of hatred.

"If I see you in my presence again," The Demon Lord of Wrath and Revenge spat, "I will _kill you_. I don't give a fuck what you are. I will rip off your wings, angel, feather by feather, until you fall."

Castiel did not answer. He remained curled on the floor until Amon had given him a disgusted snort and stomped off. The former angel waited until he was sure that the Demon Lord was gone before he moved. Everywhere hurt and he would probably bruise (he didn't doubt he'd _broken_ something), but he had learned something valuable.

He had learned Amon's real name.

Dean.

Dean and Sam.

Now if only he could get them to remember who they used to be.

Beaten and bruised, it seemed like an impossible task, especially when Castiel himself had no idea who they had been before falling into the dark fires of Hell.


	8. Chapter 8

_I'm kind of getting back into this again. Which is good. I guess. However, I just realized that I don't think this is going to be as long as I thought it would be. (shrugs)_

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (8)<strong>

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><p>Castiel did not see Amon for several weeks.<p>

Not that he went looking. In fact, he made sure to stay far away from Amon's usual haunts, knowing that the Demon Lord would very likely hold up on his promise to kill Castiel. So the former angel kept mostly to his room, the library, or stuck with Astaroth if he did have to leave. Veles, apparently sensing his mood, was grumpy and would stretch out across the floor in Castiel's way, trying to get attention. And, growing at the rapid rate he had been (now the size of a large sheep), he was doing a very good job of getting in the way.

Castiel ran his fingers through the hell hound's smoke-like fur. The former angel was sprawled against the headboard of his four-poster bed, black wings draped over the sides to trail across the floor. Veles was stretched in front of him, back paws dangling over the edge of the bed and his head and shoulders resting on Castiel's lap, forepaws tangled in the former angel's trenchcoat. Castiel's fingers were pushed into the smoky fur around the hell hound's ears, ruffling it in what he found was a surprisingly soothing manner.

"Dean…" Castiel whispered, brow furrowed as he sought through centuries of angelic knowledge, "Sam…Sam and Dean…" He hummed quietly as he tried to think, but nowhere could he recall ever hearing about two humans becoming a couple of Demon Lords. Either their descent into Hell had been too long ago or Heaven had been too busy with its war to notice.

Veles let out huffy grunt and nudged Castiel's immobile hand to get him to start petting again. The tainted angel looked down at the hell hound sprawled across his lap with a small smile tugging at his lips. If any of his brothers would have told him that he would one day be a guest in the house of a couple of demon brothers with a hell hound for a pet and actually _enjoying _himself…he would have requested that they be removed from the garrison for rehabilitation efforts. Thinking of home put a damper on Castiel's spirits. It had been a year or two (maybe even three) since he'd been captured and he had seen no sign of a rescue.

He was beginning to wonder if he brothers even cared.

The thought caused a searing ache in his Grace and he closed his eyes, fingers digging deep into Veles' fur. Of course his brothers cared but no angel had ever broken into Hell before, not even Michael. But the more Castiel thought about it, the more confused about his feelings he became. He missed Heaven and his brothers terribly but Amon and Astaroth had become a project of Castiel's, a goal he was working towards. There was a part of him, somewhere, a small, illogical part, that believed that if he could get the brothers to remember who they had been then they would release him back to his family.

But he also cared about them. He _cared_ about a couple of Demon Lord brothers.

Castiel didn't know how he should feel.

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><p>"Amon?"<p>

Castiel looked up as Astaroth's voice echoed through the quiet library. The former angel was sitting in his favorite corner, curled up with a book about deals and the proper way to go about them. Veles was sleeping in his room, a week later and twice that size he had been. He had not spoken to Amon since their fight and he was finding himself hard pressed to want to do so any time soon. Whether out of fear or frustration, he didn't know.

"Amon? I seriously doubt you're in here but…Amon! Ammmooooonnn? Amo—oh, hey Cas."

"Hello Astaroth."

The Demon Lord of Fear and Chaos looked harassed and agitated. His black eyes were clouded, his brow furrowed, his wings out and twitching against his back, and he kept scratching at his horns.

"Is everything all right?" Castiel asked, setting the book down on his lap.

"Yes. No. Kind of." Astaroth's wings half opened and he shook his shoulders until they pulled back in, "Amon and I…we were supposed to groom each other today but I can't find him anywhere. Have you seen him?"

"Not since our…disagreement." Castiel tilted his head, "Why not get Ruby to groom you instead?"

He swore that he saw Astaroth's face turning red behind that mask, "It's not…she doesn't…" A pause, "My relationship with Ruby isn't intimate, it's just a…thing. Amon and I are brothers, we…" He swallowed, "Listen, Cas, I know it's asking a lot but could you clean my wings for me? They're driving me nuts. I can, uh, clean…yours for you."

Castiel blinked. They had talked about this, in length, demon edict. It wasn't, it turned out, much different from angel edict when it came to grooming, relationships, and power structure. But what Astaroth was asking of him was a powerful exclamation of family bonding.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." Castiel answered seriously, "I may be tainted but I am still an angel. It would be improper for us too—."

"That's a bunch of crap." Astaroth cut in, wings rustling, spreading and folding rhythmically, "We've never—that is to say—what I mean is…" A frustrated groan, "God, Cas, you're practically family by now."

Castiel froze. He stared up at Astaroth unblinkingly, hands pressed over the book cover on his lap, wings half opened at his back.

Astaroth…" The angel chose his words carefully, "You are asking me to be your brother."

The Demon Lord's features softened, "Amon and I were talking for a while before your argument. We usually get bored of our guests after a year but, geez, you've been—."

"Around." Castiel was starting to understand what Astaroth was having such a hard time expressing, "You enjoy my company and the sense of my Grace."

A crinkling of those black eyes, "There's no one else in Hell I can have philosophical discussions with."

"And…Amon?"

Astaroth paused, "I think—and let me stress how much of a hypothesis this is—but I _think_ he respects you." A shrug of those broad shoulders, wings twitching, "Cas, we've never…invested this much attention in any one of our guests. Not ever."

Castiel stared flatly back at him, expressionless, "Amon said he would kill me if he saw me again."

"Yeah, well, he didn't mean it." Astaroth huffed, looking a little agitated, "He's impulsive and he's an idiot. Hells bells, Cas, he's the Demon Lord of Wrath and Revenge, he's bound to lose his temper over stupid stuff. Look," A clawed hand reached over his shoulder to try and scratch at his wings, "Can you please just help me out? It's driving me nuts."

Castiel sighed and set his book aside, shifting backwards on the pile of cushions on the floor so that Astaroth could sit. The Demon Lord happily sat in front of the former angel and relaxed his wings so that the leathery membranes were stretched across the floor. Castiel was unsure what to do. With angels, the purpose was to straighten and smooth the ruffled feathers, to ease and clean and mend and make beautiful again. Astaroth's wings had no feathers.

The Demon Lord of Fear and Chaos seemed to sense Castiel's hesitation because he said in a pleasant voice, "All you have to do is rub down the ridges and smooth out the membranes. Believe it or not, we actually get folds and kinks in our wings and it's as obnoxious as fuck."

Castiel paused for a moment longer and then ran his fingertips lightly over the ridges of Astaroth's wings. They were hard and felt like fingers, knobby at the knuckles where the wings bent. The Demon Lord pushed the ridge into Castiel's touch, urging him to apply more pressure. Castiel complied rubbing the ridges roughly with his fingers. It was a little rough and it made his arms ache but there was something rewarding about the relaxed slump of Astaroth's shoulders and, when Castiel started running the flat of his palms over the membranes, the sigh of relief that seeped through the gasmask.

It took around quiet a half hour for Astaroth to be satisfied and ruffle his wings out from under Castiel's touch. They folded up against his back and seamlessly became the usual cloak that hung from his shoulders. He stretched, black claws reaching for the ceiling, and then spun around on the spot to face Castiel.

"You're turn, Cas," He ordered in what was quite possibly the merriest tone the former angel had ever heard, "Turn around, I'll clean your wings for you."

Castiel hesitated and then slowly turned around, spreading his ebony wings out so that Astartoh could reach them. He had not been properly groomed since he'd been captured, only managing to clean his wings every so often by himself, so when Astaroth's fingers ran through his feathers, straightening the barbs and smooth the ruffled edges, he felt himself relax and let out a sigh of contentment.

"God, Cas, the feathers at your back are like Amon's hair in the morning." Astaroth chuckled and Castiel felt a tug as the demon began to untangle them.

"I would have thought your hair would have caused more of a problem."

"Dude, was the at a _joke_? Did you just make a joke?"

"I…yes, I suppose I did."

There was a pleased sort of humming noise from Astaroth and then silence fell again. It went on for a while before Cas decided to ask a very risky question, one that could either move him closer to helping the brothers or put him in the same situation he was now in with Amon.

"Astaroth, how much do you remember about being human."

Everything froze and the Demon Lord's fingers were suddenly icy cold against Cas' feathers. The former angel stiffened and fought the instinctive urge to pull his wings in. He remained perfectly still, acutely aware of Astaroth's pitch black eyes on the back of his head. After what felt like a very long moment, the demon said,

"Nothing."

He started working at Cas' feathers again and when he spoke, his voice was low, "I don't remember anything, I only knew that I was. I think every demon does. Remember being human, I mean. They—we—might not remember the details, might not remember our names or our true faces, but we just _know_ we used to be human."

"And it…it does not bother you? You are aware that you used to be human—Amon is aware—and yet you still cause so much suffering."

Astaroth's grip tightened painfully on Castiel's feathers, but only for a moment, "How does it feel to you, Cas? How does it feel to know you were once an angel of God? You remember your former glory, don't you, you remember what Heaven was life, right? And yet you're completely aware of the fact that you can _never go back _to that. Think about that and then ask me that question again."

Castiel did not want to think about it. He knew how it would make him feel; angry, frustrated, hurt, and saddened. It was a crushing swell of emotions and while he was well versed in pretending they didn't exist, in looking the other way, demons appeared to be less able to resist the temptation to vent their rages. It was the ultimate torture, Castiel thought, to be able to remember what you once were in the vaguest of ways, to remember just enough to hate and suffer from it.

He understood it all to well.

But perhaps Castiel had something that the demons did not. A tiny, flickering shred of hope. The demon brothers were his only ticket out of Hell and he was beginning to want to do anything he could to save them as well.

"Astartoth," The Castiel began, "What would you sa—."

He was cut off by Astaroth surging to his feet and spinning about so fast that his cloak smacked into the back of Castiel's head. The former angel scrambled to his feet as Astaroth took off running down the rows of bookcases. Castiel followed after him, trench coat billowing in his wake, dead feathers loosened by Astaroth's grooming swirling out behind him like fluffy black snow.

"Astaroth!" Castiel called they burst from the library, "Astaroth! What is going on!"

The Demon Lord did not answer, only continued to run. His wings flared briefly behind him as he leapt down the stairs and he landed with a solid thunk on the floor below. Castiel leapt after him.

"Asta—ahg, Veles!" The former angel shouted for the hell hound. There was the sound of splintering wood and Veles came charging over the banister to run beside his master. Castiel raced to keep pace with the Demon Lord of Fear and Chaos, "Astaroth! What's happening! Astaroth! Sam!"

The Demon Lord stumbled, caught himself, and looked over his shoulder as he ran. For a split second, his eyes looked brown instead of pitch demon black. Or it might have been the light.

"It's Amon!" There was a hitched, terrified edge that Castiel had never heard in Astaroth's voice before. It was a tone he usually heard the in the Demon Lord's victim's.

"What's wrong with Amon! What's happened!"

"I don't know!" The trio burst into the courtyard, scattering demons in their wake, "He's in trouble! He's in danger!"

"Astaroth, you need to calm down!" Castiel grabbed the demon's shoulder and jerked him back so that their eyes met, crystal blue on tar black, "If Amon is under attack, you need to gather your troops. Point me in the direction Amon is in and I will find him and help him if I can."

"But—!"

"Listen to me!" Castiel snapped, shaking the Demon Lord, "There is every possibility that Asmodeaus or Alastair or even _Heaven itself_ is attacking your brother! You will need backup! I will go and save him if I can but you need to think clearly!" His voice lowered somewhat, "You were always the more levelheaded of the two of you. I need you to be smart about this. Right now. Focus."

Astaroth stared at him and then nodded, his features hardening behind his gasmask, "Somewhere west of here, in the Hinterlands, I think. Cas. Find him. Be careful." With that he whirled around, wings flaring wide, and started bellowing orders in a way that would have made Amon proud. Castiel turned to Veles, who was growling softly,

"Stay with Astaroth. Do as he says. I'll be back shortly."

Veles cocked his head to the side with a short whine but Castiel was already spreading his wings and pumping them quickly. He gained altitude and shot off to the West, towards the Hinterlands, the border between the Demon Lord regions.

It was only when the shadow of the castle was shrinking away behind him that he realized that the familiar weight of the collar was no longer tight around his neck.


	9. Chapter 9

_I'm kinda worried about this chapter so please tell me what you guys think. I'm always worried about action scenes._

…_I like the Lion King._

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (9)<strong>

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><p>Ever since his confrontation with Castiel, Amon had been in a furious mood.<p>

He had raged about the castle for hours, torturing the souls at his mercy far more cruelly than ever before, and generally being the biggest bag of dicks his side of Hell. The claw marks from Veles were healing slower than they should have and throbbed painfully beneath the belts on his face, making his temper short. What made it worse was that he could sense Castiel's goddamn _presence _all over the castle. He was sure that Astaroth felt it too, but Ashy had always been a little weird about things like "psychic connections" and besides, that wasn't the point. The point was that Castiel reminded Amon of something he hadn't thought about in centuries.

That he used to be human.

The utter rage and anguish that had accompanied that revelation had shot through Amon like hellfire on a bad day. There was a small part of him that regretted beating Castiel but the rest decided that the angel solidly deserved the punishment. Never had Amon felt so weak and so vulnerable as in that split second of a moment when he'd remembered what he used to be.

Unacceptable.

Completely unacceptable.

But now the Demon Lord couldn't get the thought from his head. Nothing distracted him from it, not the television, not his harem, not torturing souls, nothing. So one day he simply took to the skies and flew off into the Hinterlands to clear his mind, to get away from Castiel. The Hinterlands were no man's land, a barren stretch of red rock carved with canyons and bottomless pits.

Amon settled himself onto the floor of a canyon, the sheer rock walls rising up on either side of him, casting him in shadow. There, in the quiet and the gloom, he tried to figure things out. It didn't go very well. He could not shake that agonizing remembrance. It simply would not let him be. With a furious snarl, he lashed out and sent a whip of fire against the canyon wall, scorching the rock with a streak of black and cracking the stone.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Tutted an accented voice that Amon loathed to hear any day of the week, much less now of all times, "Temper, temper, boy. What did that poor rock ever do to you?"

"Oh fuck me." Amon growled, turning on the spot to glare at Asmodeus, better known to the human realm as Crowley (and generally referred to as such, seeing as it was less of a mouthful).

"That can be arranged." Crowley said mildly, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. Even in Hell, he wore a perfectly human guise; a short, British man with a perfectly tailored suit and slick hair. The only thing that changed between Earth and Hell was his eyes. He could not hide his blood red demon eyes in the underworld.

"I do not want to deal with you right now, Crowley, so get out of my sight." Amon spat, not daring to turn his back on the other Demon Lord. Crowley and Alastair were still at war with Heaven and they were still fairly sore at Amon and Astaroth for backing out of it.

"And there we have the problem," Crowley sauntered up to him, a small, smug expression playing across his face, "Because I'd very much like to deal with you."

Amon said nothing, just stood his ground in wary, angry sort of way.

"One of my little birdies told me that you've got an angel in your castle," Crowley took a sip of his golden whiskey and licked his lips, "And that you had a little fight."

Amon growled, a low, animalistic sound that rumbled deep in his chest, "Your spies shouldn't be in our castle. Who is it? Who's your little bird? I'll wring their neck."

"Temper, temper, boy, didn't I already say that?" The Demon Lord of Ambition, Greed, and Desire sneered, "Besides, I don't think your moose would be very pleased with you if you killed my bird."

"Ruby." Amon's sharp teeth flashed past the belts lashed across his face, "That bitch."

"Now about that angel…"

Glowing green eyes snapped back to Crowley, "What about him?"

"He's already half way gone, isn't he? Tainted, stained, halfway down the road to demon-hood.

"What's your point?"

"I take it you've been having a difficult time adjusting to the presence of his _Grace_." Crowley ground the word out like it was something he'd gotten stuck between his teeth, "I know, I can see it on your face. How about I take him off your hands?"

Instant war ensued in Amon's head.

_Yes, get rid of him, he's breaking you. Look at what he's done already. He's a wedge between you and Astaroth, he's a tumor on your reign. He's been nothing but trouble._

_No. Look at Crowley, didn't you hear that tone in his voice? He'll tear Castiel apart. It'll be worse than Alastair. There wouldn't be anything left of Cas at all._

_You're getting attached. Your so called 'pet project' has become a part of your _family_. A fucking angel. A broken, tainted angel. Get rid of him. He's ruining you. Can't you see that? He's already ruined you. You don't even know who you are anymore._

_Look at everything you've done for him. Look at everything he's done for you. When's the last time you've had that much fun? You know what Crowley would do to him. You know it, you've seen it, and you can't stand that. Don't do it. Don't give him away._

_He's a menace._

_He's not._

_He's done nothing but ruin everything._

_He's made it better._

_You're an idiot to keep him around._

Amon clenched his fists at his sides, looked Crowley in the eye, and spat out an angry,

"No."

One eyebrow rose in response, "No? I could make it worth your while. I can give you anything you want, you know that Amon." Crowley spread his arms out and his presence seemed to swell until Amon could feel the other demon's power pushing against him, "I'm the Demon Lord of Desire, I'm Asmodeus, I'm the King of the Crossroads." He smiled and his teeth were suddenly sharper than normal, "Ask me for anything and I can give it to you."

"I said no." Amon snapped, "Now go away, I'm through talking to you." His eyes narrowed and he could feel the sharp sting of one of the cuts from Veles' assault pop open and ooze blood beneath some of the belts.

Crowley eyed him for a moment as if he was looking for something and then sighed. He swirled the whiskey around in his glass and then downed it all in a single gulp. As he dropped his hand, the tumbler vanished and he stuck both hands into the pockets of his perfect slacks.

"Have it your way," The Demon Lord of Greed and Desire muttered, shrugging one shoulder. He turned to leave, paused, and said over his shoulder, "By the way, I heard that the Jersey Devils were acting a little wild today. You might want to be on the look out for them."

"Fuck off." Amon grumbled, slouching down to sit on the canyon floor again.

"All right, I'll let you sulk in peace, then. Just remember, Lord Amon, everyone makes a deal with me. Everyone."

Amon whipped around to glare at Crowley but the other demon had already vanished. Snorting angrily, sparks dancing briefly between his fingers, Amon scratched sigils into the dirt with his claws.

"Deals," He huffed moodily, "I've never made a deal with you, Asmodeus, and I never will."

He frowned and looked up. He thought, for a moment, he'd heard thunder in the distance. Shrugging it off and thinking it had something to do with the way sound bounced in the canyon or some weird stuff like that, he went back to scratching in the dirt again.

Only then the ground started to tremble.

Okay, that definitely wasn't normal.

Amon looked up again, tail sweeping back and forth across the rocky canyon floor in trepidation. Had Crowley called out an army on him? But that would break their already unstable alliance and besides, he and Alastair were too busy with their against Heaven to bother with Amon. They'd said as much themselves. Crowley was probably just screwing with him. Maybe. Something told Amon that wasn't the case but the Demon Lord was too fed up to care.

He should have listened to that something.

By the time he understood that what he was hearing wasn't thunder, they were almost on top of him. He heard the pounding of their hooves and their screaming cries and scrambled to his feet in time to see a stampeding herd of Jersey Devils hurtling around a corner towards him. They were a mass of bright, flame red with black eyes and curling rams horns of steel, their iron hooves churning the stone beneath them to dust, their sharp teeth snapping and hissing. Tiny, useless, bat-like wings beat against one another, devil spaded tails tangled in the air, and a few of them were even spitting fire between their harsh, human-like screaming cries.

Amon locked up.

For a split second, he froze.

Then he ran.

It didn't even occur to him to use his wings. He simply ran, the thudding of his boots lost amongst the pounding of the stampede, his gasping breath sucking in the dust churned up by the Devils. He was panicking and for the life of him he couldn't wrap his mind around why. Jersey Devils were untamable, wild beasts of Hell who slipped onto Earth to eat children and cause massive amounts of panic. They lived in the Hinterlands and destroyed any demon stupid enough to get caught in their stampeding path.

Amon had been stupid enough.

Up ahead, he saw a rise of rock in the middle of the canyon floor. It was the perfect launch pad. He put on an extra burst of speed and willed his wings open, letting them burst from his shoulders as he ran up the small incline. The Jersey Devils were hot on his heels, snapping at his tail, hissing and calling at him. Amon did his best to ignore them. He raced up the rock and jumped off the peak. He might have made it too, if he had been a few seconds faster.

His boot had barely left the ground when they overcame him. Stampeding in a wild madness, they leapt over the rock and crashed into him. He tumbled from the air, wings beating frantically against thousands of bodies that pushed and crushed against him. One of the Devils fell and pinned him to the ground, legs kicking, head flailing, horns thudding painfully against the Demon Lord's chest and driving the air from his lungs. The other Devils continued to stampede around him and trampled down his wings, their heavy hooves tearing into the thin membranes and cracking the brittle fingers in between. He would have screamed if he'd had the breath to do it.

The stampede didn't seem to end. The Devil that had fallen on him had found its feet and joined its herd but not before it kicked him in the face and ripped a handful of belts from his face. He couldn't remember being in this much pain. His breath wasn't filling up crushed lungs, his vision was red and he couldn't figure out if it was because of the Devils or because there was blood in his eyes, and his wings were in agony. He tried to roll onto his side and drag himself under the safety of the small rock rise for what little shelter it would provide but those cloven hooves tore into his wings and yanked him back when he tried to move.

_Can Demon Lords die? What will happen to Astaroth? Can you die again in Hell?_

He thought he heard someone calling his name. Maybe he just wished someone was calling his name.

"Amon!"

No…no someone was definitely calling for him. A gravelly voice, not Astaroth's, not who he expected at all.

"Amon!" A shadow flashed between the pounding bodies of the Jersey Devils and for a brief instant, the Demon Lord saw a familiar trench coat and a pair of ebony wings.

Castiel.

A mixture of feelings rose up in Amon's chest but it also sent fire through his limbs. He was still angry with the half-fallen angel. With a pain torn, furious shout, he surged against the tide of Devils, broken wings creaking, snapping, tearing, claws scrabbling, tail lashing as he hauled himself to his hands and knees and then tried to get to his feet.

"Amon!" In a flash, Castiel was flying overhead, vibrant blue eyes almost glowing in the gloom of the canyon, "Grab my hand!"

Another growl of thunder rumbled through Amon's beaten chest as he tried to push his way towards the outstretched hand. Claws brushed fingertips and then a Devil tore straight through one of Amon's wings and he doubled over with an agonizing scream of pain, flames spitting from his hands as he lashed out instinctively. A hand snatched through the fire and grabbed his wrist, pulling at him, hoisting him up into the air. The stampeding Jersey Devils knocked against the Demon Lord's body, battering him sideways, tossing his legs this way and that as Castiel's wings pumped for all they were worth. His features were strained, his wings working so hard that they were shedding black feathers, a sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead.

A Jersey Devil chose that moment when Amon was almost clear of the herd to leap up and snag Castiel's foot in its mouth. The angel let out a cry as the extra weight pulled him back down. Another Devil slammed into Amon's chest, knocking him breathless again and tearing him out of Cas' grasp. Amon was thrown back against the canyon wall and he scrambled for purchase, trying to find something to pull him out above the stampede. His claws sunk into a crack and he hauled himself up as best he could, boots scrabbling against the sheer rock wall, tattered wings dangling from his back like extra weights, useless and torn. The demon looked back over his shoulder but he couldn't see Cas anywhere. There was the large possibility that the angel had been pulled down into the herd and was being trampled to death.

Amon pressed the side of his face against the canyon wall, trying to steady his breath and his thundering heartbeat. He couldn't remember ever being so terrified in life. But it wasn't just himself he was scared for. He didn't want to leave Astaroth behind, couldn't leave him behind.

There was an explosion of black feathers and then Castiel was there again, hands reaching and Amon didn't even think, he just jumped. Cas barely managed to catch him and they dropped several feet but those black wings beat the air until they rose. A stream of fire flared up from one of the Jersey Devils below and the former angel swerved to avoid it. The movement unbalanced him and they dropped again. Amon sent a vicious kick into the muzzle of a Devil snapping at them and it dropped back with a yelp.

"Cas, you gotta get higher!" He roared, kicking at another Devil, claws digging probably painfully into the angel's shoulders, "Fly higher!"

"I can't—!" Castiel's voice cracked as he shouted back, the strain on his face evident. He should have been able to, Amon knew that, but it looked as though being stuck between demon and angel had left Castiel weaker than he imagined.

"Try!" Amon screamed and then jerked, fingers slipping as a Jersey Devil grabbed hold of one of his wings and started pulling him along with the herd, "Cas! Fly you fucking idiot!" He didn't know if he was shouting to save Cas or shouting to save himself.

Cas was still clinging tightly to Amon and the Jersey Devil still had a hold of Amon's wing. Castiel fought back, his own wings swirling the air, as he fought back against the surging tide of Jersey Devils. But the stampede was stronger and they were being dragged both along the canyon and back down towards the herd.

"No."

It wasn't a shout, it was a low, furious growl and Amon's gaze snapped back to Cas' face. The former angel's usually blank features were twisted into a vengeful snarl and his wings snapped wide open, catching a surge of air. His teeth were bared and they were dagger sharp. Claws bit into Amon's skin as Castiel hauled backwards, wings beating with a renewed fury. The Devil clinging to Amon's wing was lifted out of the herd before the force of its stampeding brothers dragged it back and it was forced to let go. The effect was immediate. Castiel soured into the sky on a rush of hot air, flying clear of the herd and the canyon walls. Amon's tense body relaxed a little and the pain washed over him anew, a fresh wave of agony that pulled at his mind, yanking it down into the blackness of unconsciousness.

Just before the darkness swirled over, he thought he saw a figure standing on the edge of the canyon.

It looked like a short man in a perfect suit.

But maybe he'd just been imagining it.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry for the long pause there. I've got a lot of work to do.  
><em>

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (10)<strong>

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><p>Castiel met Astaroth and his entourage halfway back to the castle. The former angel had flown with the unconscious Amon in his arms for most of the way and then his wings had given out and he'd had to start walking, nearly dragging the Demon Lord along, feeling terrible for every dip and rock they passed over that jolted Amon's ruined wings. Castiel was exhausted when Astaroth found them.<p>

There was a massive shadow overhead and that was all the warning Castiel got before Astaroth slammed into the earth in front of him. Veles leapt from his arms and started sniffing around Cas' legs, growling when he caught sight of the bite mark on the former angel's leg.

There was a sudden swirl of black smoke and a platoon of armed soldiers burst into existence, decked out in silver-black armor and carrying swords and lances. Astaroth was a menacing and terrifying sight in his own armor, all sharp angles of red-violet, bruise purple, and deep black, a massive great sword sheathed at his side. One of the straps on his mask was loose. Even though they were not a part of the war against Heaven, Astaroth and Amon had obviously been prepared for fights and were no stranger to battle gear.

"Amon!" And with that single exclamation, all that terror and ferocity that the Demon Lord of Fear and Chaos had been holding vanished. He sounded like a lost man, a young brother who was only looking out for his family and was devastated to see them hurt, "Holy shit, Amon, talk to me! What happened? Cas, tell me what happened!"

Castiel looked up wearily, Amon still hanging heavily in his arms and his wings ached and his leg was throbbing. But he answered Astaroth in a hoarse, tired voice,

"He was in a canyon…there was a stampede of…of devil-like creatures. I kept trying…I am sorry, Lord Astaroth, I…I should have been faster." He felt the ground tilt beneath his feet, "You may want to take your brother I…I can't…"

He swayed on the spot and Astaroth darted forward, armored arms catching them both with a grunt. Veles stood silently nearby, glaring back across the Hinterlands in the direction Cas had come from.

"Get me some help over here!" Astaroth snapped at his soldiers and several of them rushed forward to take hold of Castiel so the Demon Lord could take Amon, "We're going back to the castle, Amon needs healing." A black-eyed glance in Castiel's direction, "And so does Cas. Let's go. Someone grab the hell hound."

Cas felt unfamiliar hands grabbing tightly to his arms, then a dizzying cascade of churning black smoke, and then the familiar stone walls of the castle. He breathed a sigh of relief and with it went the last shreds of his strength.

He passed into uncomfortable darkness.

* * *

><p>Amon did not wake up and his wings did not heal.<p>

Astaroth refused to leave his brother's side and left the devices of the castle up to Chuck and Ruby. He remained in the room whether the healers were there or not and grew frustrated when said healers made very little progress in healing Amon. Something, they said, was not quite right. Demons weren't very versed in healing as it was but something about Amon's demonic powers had been altered and they didn't know what. Astaroth chased them out with threats of removing his mask and did not ask for them again.

A day after returning from the Hinterlands, Castiel tentatively slid into the room with a tray of food; two steaming bowls of stew, some bread, and a decanter of wine. He said nothing as he took a seat beside Astaroth at Amon's bedside and set the tray carefully on the small table in front of them. Astaroth's gaze did not leave his brother. The silence in the air was heavy.

"I am sorry." Castiel finally said in a low voice, blue eyes staring at the floor. He had woken up a few hours after arriving back at the castle but had stayed away from the Demon Lords, mostly out of fear of retribution. He had failed to save Amon in time and Astaroth would mostly likely not forgive him for that.

Beside that, he had needed time to adjust to the black claws on his fingers and his sharpened teeth. The taint of his Grace was a deep, saturated black. Nothing could be done for him now. Any more time spent in the company of the Demon Lords would turn and corrupt him completely and it would be unlikely that even an Archangel could save him then. But Castiel had gone beyond the point of hoping for his brothers or even caring if Heaven was still looking for him. Amon and Astaroth had adopted him into their own, trusted him, befriended him.

And he had let them down.

"Can you heal him?" Astaroth's voice was rough and splintered with worry.

"I…I do not know." Black eyes turned pleadingly on Castiel and the former angel sighed, "But I will try."

Castiel leaned forward and lay a hand on Amon's shuddering chest. He expected the familiar flaring heat of hellfire to be radiating off the Demon Lord's skin but was shocked to find it almost cool. No, not cool, he realized. But the warmth of a human, cooler than hellfire but hotter than the flames of Heaven. He didn't know if he should take it as a good thing or not.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Castiel reached for the tendrils of his Grace still seeping through the taint on his soul. It seared him, an eye-watering pain coursing through him as his own Grace shied away from what he had become. He was caught between angel and demon and the dizzying pain that resulted from the clash of powers inside him was enough to make him sick. But he stubbornly shoved the healing energies of those shreds of Grace towards Amon.

There was a blaze of light, the sharp stench of burning things, and then Astaroth's hands were pulling him back, shouting things that Castiel couldn't quite make out. His hands stung with poker hot pins and needles, his vision was a white-out blur of shapes, and his insides were spinning in different direction than the rest of the world.

A hand pressed against his forehead and he blinked several times, bidding his sight to come back. It did, slowly, and he managed to make out Astaroth leaning over him, one hand to the former angel's forehead. Castiel groaned and sat up, gently sliding out from the Demon Lord's touch, and looked to Amon,

"Did it work?"

"I don't…no, I don't think so." The Demon Lord of Fear and Chaos murmured and he sounded so human that Castiel turned around to look at him instead. He was a little taken aback when he saw, once again, Astaroth's eyes were no longer completely black but instead were a soft human brown, staring fixedly at his brother. The sickly pale pallor of his skin was warmer, pinker, more human. If not for the horns and the claws and the gasmask, Castiel would have thought the Demon Lord simply a human in a strange costume.

"Dean…" Astaroth said in a low voice and dropped his head into his hands. Castiel's eyes widened and his wings rustled, "Why did you have to be such an idiot…? What were you doing out there?"

"Being…pissed at Cas." Choked a voice and the other two looked up sharply to see a pair of tired green eyes watching them, "Hell's bells, Sammy…you're such a girl."

"Dean!" Astaroth leapt to his brother's side, hands flying over the other demon's form, tangling up his words as he asked if his brother was all right.

Castiel watched in utter amazement, frozen in his seat, as the two brothers bickered back and forth in a manner that showed their worry and their care and their devotion to one another. And they were calling each other by their human names.

"Where's that stupid angel?"

Amon was leaning around Astaroth, looking expectantly at Castiel. His dark crimson skin was undeniably a few shades lighter and his green eyes had lost their angry glow.

"Hey," The Demon Lord muttered, "Thanks for saving my sorry ass. And I…take back what I said about killing you, 'k. No hard feelings?"

"No…" Castiel murmured, afraid to even blink lest the delicate threads of humanity showing through vanished if he did so, "No hard feelings. I forgive you."

Amon made a noise that was half laughter, half cough and flopped back onto his bed. His eyes slid closed and Astaroth made a worried noise in the back of his throat. Amon grunted at him to ease off and that he just needed some sleep. Castiel watched their tired bickering resume in silence. The trauma had pulled them all closer together and tugged even more of the brother's humanity to the surface.

Just a little more time and they would remember who they really were.

Just a little more time and Castiel's Grace would be buried forever under black demon taint.

* * *

><p>Castiel urged Astaroth to attend to the duties of the castle and the duel realms, promising to take good care of Amon and to alert the other Demon Lord if there were any changes. Astaroth was hesitant to go but Chuck and Ruby were butting heads and Chuck was generally ending up out cold on the floor so the Demon Lord saw the sense in it. He peered in every so often, brought food and drink, and tried to pretend that he wasn't worried. Castiel remained at Amon's side, coaxing him to sleep or eat while doing very little of it himself.<p>

Everything changed a week and a half later when Amon's horns fell off.

It was quiet around the castle, very little activity going on and no one in a rush to start doing anything either. Veles was snoozing at Castiel's feet, his massive bulk now the size of a small pony. The former angel himself had his head propped in his hand and his elbow on the arm rest of his chair, staring at the book in his lap without really reading the words.

An irritating _skrtch skrtch skrtch_ drew his attention to the bed. Amon was leaning against the headboard, propped there by numerous pillows. He had been slowly healing and had managed to fold his wings away though the lacerations and bruises still remained across his chest and face, a few belts still dangling loosely from his features where he hadn't bothered or let anyone else remove them.

"Stop scratching." Castiel said flatly, raising his head from his hand and dropping his arm over the armrest.

"Can't help it," Amon grumbled, claws digging into his hair where his horns met his skin, "They itch and they're driving me nuts."

"You're only irritating it."

Amon made a strangled noise of annoyance and his other hand came up to attack his other horn, claw tips scraping along the hard surface and raising that irritating, fingernails on a chalkboard scratching. Castiel ground his teeth together at the noise and reached forward to stop Amon but the Demon Lord pulled away from him with an angry huff. Castiel frowned, a combination of weariness, worry, and the sting of his own rebelling Grace making him grumpy and drawn tight as a violin string. He reached forward again to stop Amon and this time Amon batted his hand away before returning to his scratching.

"Amon, cease your current activities!" Castiel snapped and lunged forward again only to have Amon's tail sweep up and start battering at his face. Castiel swiped at it angrily and a swirl of flames flared from his palms.

There was a yelp of surprise from both and then a sharp crack and a heavy silence.

Castiel slowly lowered his hands and met Amon's wide eyes. Then both blue and green traveled down and looked at the rumpled bed sheets. Amon's steely horns lay there, his fingers still pushed into his short, artfully ruffled, brownish hair. There were no scars, no holes, nothing to indicate that the Demon Lord had ever had horns at all.

"Amon…?" Castiel breathed and something in his voice made Veles' ears perk and the hell hound raised his head, snuffling quietly.

The Demon Lord, still staring at the horns laying on the covers, slowly lowered his hands. His fingers trailed down his temples, over his (rounded, Castiel noted) ears, and then dropped to touch the fallen horns. They cracked and then crumpled into dust beneath his touch. There was another heavy pause and then Amon looked up at Castiel and he the expression on his face was hopeless, confused,

"Cas…what's happening to me?"

The former angel bit his lip, hesitating for a moment, and then said slowly,

"You're becoming human."

Amon's emerald eyes—no longer glowing a furious, angry green but completely human—stared at him. They traveled from the former angel's dark hair, to the ebony wings folded against the trench coat, to the sharp teeth, to the claw tipped fingers. Then he met Castiel's solid blue gaze and murmured,

"And you're becoming a demon."

Castiel couldn't help it, he dropped his gaze from the Demon Lord's to Veles', "Then you are getting what you desired. My corruption. My fall." The hell hound at his feet thumped his tail against the floor, ears perked in Castiel's direction. The former angel lowered his hand and wound his fingers into Veles' smoky fur. Saying it out loud was different than simply thinking about it. It almost seemed to hurt.

"Well…good." Amon huffed and when Castiel looked up, he found that Amon had turned away and was busy fingering the hornless sides of his head.

But his words sounded forced and not for a second did Castiel believe them.


	11. Chapter 11

_Don't worry, it'll get actiony any minute now._

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (11)<strong>

* * *

><p>Later, Castiel left Amon's room and did not return. He hovered about the library for a while but found he wasn't at all interested in reading. Then, Veles faithfully at his heels, he wander over to Chuck's office but the twitchy demon was furiously trying to get some paperwork in order and brushed Castiel off with an apologetic mumble. Astaroth was no where to be found and Castiel found himself with a lack of motivation to do anything. He felt blank, like a chalkboard wiped and washed clean, his mind a slick marble surface that thoughts simply slid away from, a vast white space sitting emptily inside his chest. It was a feeling he did not quite understand, a disconnect that had no rhyme or reason to exist, and it was such an aggravating feeling that he wound up trailing back up the stairs to stand in front of Amon's door.<p>

He stared at it for a long moment as if it could give him the answers he sought and, when the blank feeling did not go away, he pushed open the door to his own room and slipped inside. Leaving the door cracked half open, the former angel wandered in an almost listless manner over to his bed and flopped down onto it. Never had he flopped onto anything before but the current blank state of his mind seemed to fit the motion. He lay diagonally across the bedspread, feet dangling over one edge. There was a shuffling, then the bed creaked and bent inwards as Veles climbed up beside him. The hell hound huffed through his big nose and wedged his warm, smoky form against the former angel's side. Castiel absently stretched out one wing and draped it over Veles.

He lay on his stomach for a long moment, thinking, trying to sort out exactly what he was supposed to be feeling.

His Grace was still substantial enough that it was even now affecting the Demon Lords, pushing aside the hellfire in their souls and tugging at their humanity. And in clean contrast, their hellfire was still corrupting his Grace. It was a race to see who would be changed first. A race that Castiel was losing. His goal had been to cleanse the brothers, make them remember who they had been, force their humanity to the surface so that they would free him and allow him to return to Heaven. However, now that he thought of it, he realized that he did not want to use them for his own goals, he wanted to save them. Returning to his brothers and sisters in Heaven seemed like a far away fantasy now, so thick was the black taint on his soul.

Now he simply wanted to raise the brothers out of Hell.

A loud shout pulled him from his thoughts. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, and looked towards his door. Veles raised his head, ears twitching forward to catch the sound.

"Dean!" It was Amon's voice, echoing down the stone hallway, an exclamation that was a tangle of wonderment, realization, joy, and confusion, "Dean Winchester!"

Castiel threw himself off the bed, wings flaring as he darted out the door into the hallway. Veles leapt off the bed after him, large paws thudding into the floor. Amon was out in the hall, limping slightly, and when he saw Castiel an excited, half mad smile lit up his face. His teeth were flat, human ones, the belts on his face completely gone, ripped away.

"Cas!" Amon shouted gleefully, darting forward to cling to the former angel's shoulders, "Cas, I remember! God, I remember everything!" There were something like tears in his eyes, his skin was paler, not quite human toned but getting there, his claws receded, his tail shorter and the arrow-tip on it shrunk and less intimidating looking, "I remember…I remember everything and—!"

He froze, emerald eyes darting over Castiel's shoulder. The former angel turned around and saw Astaroth standing at the other end of the hall. His gasmask was dangling around his neck, exposing his mouth and the lower half of his face, something Cas had never seen. The blackness in his eyes was gone and the brown orbs they left behind stared at Amon.

"Sammy…" Amon breathed, stepping away from Castiel and stumbling towards his brother, "Sam…"

"Dean." Astaroth said and his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips, "I remember what we…but how?" His brow crinkled in confusion and his gaze switched to Cas, "You. You're Grace. While we were turning you, you were turning us. And you _knew_."

"I suspected." Castiel admitted, nodding once, "I thought I could make you remember enough so that you would set me free." He saw Amon's gaze harden, recalled the quick temper, and quickly added, "That has since changed. Your hearts were always too good for Hell, you do not belong here." He raised his chin, shoulders straightening, "I want to raise you from Perdition. I want to give you the life you had before, whatever that might have been."

"We were…Sam and Dean Winchester." Astaroth said softly, "We were hunters and—."

"You fought evil, banished demons, saved people, hunted things, the family business, blah, blah, blah." Drawled an accented voice and everyone whipped around to see Crowley standing casually in the hall, his hands in his pockets.

Veles growled, ears laid back, hackles raised, smoke unfurling from his hulking body in his distrustful anger and dislike. Castiel had never seen Crowley before but he recognized the dark pressure of a Demon Lord and the black feathers on his wings bristled in instant aversion to the demon's presence.

"Crowley," Amon—Dean—hissed, one hand on his younger brother's shoulder to keep himself steady, "You're not allowed here. Get out."

"Now, now, Amon—or should I call you Dean now? Is that your name? It must be so confusing." A sneer spread across Crowley's features, "Not that it matters, you should probably remember why you're here by now. That must be painful. I did want to spare you this, I offered to take the angel from you, it would have saved me a lot of trouble." The Demon Lord of Greed and Desire rubbed his fingertips together, looking at his fingernails as if the other four beings in the room meant nothing to him. Then, in a second, his blood red eyes flashed towards them, burning with fire and claim and walled in rage,

"You made a deal with me. Your souls belong to me. You belong in hell."

Castiel's defenses flared, his anger surged, and his Graced blazed with passion and in defiance of Crowley's claim on the Winchester brother's souls.

"You will not own them any longer." Castiel growled, stepping back to stand between Sam and Dean, gripping their upper arms tightly, "They are coming with me. We are leaving. And you cannot stop us."

Crowley's eyes widened and his power swelled, his features contorting into a furious snarl that warped his human face into something demonic and pure evil. Cas got the impression of fangs tipped in gold and silver, more eyes than the two they could see, and wings of lightning and smoke. Crowley snarled and the noise was a rumble of crackling energy and Castiel snapped his own wings open, feathers brushing the walls. Then he grabbed what little Grace he had and pulled on it, wrapping it around himself, the Winchesters, and Veles as tightly as he could.

"Hold on tight to me," He commanded and his voice rang with silver chimes, giant church bells, crystal, light, fire, and broken glass, "And brace yourselves. This will probably hurt." His bright blue eyes flashed, "I need your permission to leave. Both of you."

"Go! Fly!" Dean shouted at the same time that Sam shouted, "Yes! Go!"

Cas pumped his wings and the solidness of Hell became translucent and watery. Wrapped in Grace and using every bit of strength he could muster, the former angel flew. He flew up and up and up, leaving Crowley's angry snarls behind.

He flew through hellfire and ash, he flew through lashing chains and iron hot meat hooks, he flew through weaker demons whose smoky forms clawed with electric teeth at his shielding Grace. His wings ached and still he flew on. His Grace drained out of him, burning and searing his being as his two sides clashed against one another. And still he flew on. He was aware of only three things; the ascent, Veles balled protectively in his Grace, and his never loosening grip on the Winchesters' arms.

No one could say how long they flew but they knew when they were done.

There was an almighty tearing sound, like a million sheets of paper all being ripped to shreds, and the air was suddenly clean and clear and free of ash and blood and the stinking fumes of Hell they had grown accustomed to.

Castiel stumbled and collapsed to his knees on soft, damp grass, his black wings drooping at his sides, his breathing ragged with exhaustion. Veles, on all fours and nose in the air, let out a long whine.

"Cas!" Strong hands gripped him and hauled him to unsteady feet, "You did it! You dragged us out of Hell! We're free!"

Cas looked around slowly at Sam, who was propping him up gently, a warm smile on his face. Somewhere during the flight, his horns had fallen off and his claws had shrunk away. He looked completely human if one discounted the ragged, demon clothing hanging from his shoulders, torn by the trials of their flight. He was still ridiculously tall, though, and Castiel could faintly taste the demon taint in the air around him. When he glanced at Dean, looking just as human as his brother, he sensed the same thing. They would carry that taint for the rest of their lives and nothing would purge them of it.

And yet still, Castiel managed a smile, "Yes, I did. And I am glad of it."

"Earth!" Dean crowed in the early, misty light of pre-dawn. The sky couldn't decide whether it wanted to be gray or dark gray, mist curled in from the trees around them, the grass was wet with dew, and the air tasted sweet after the fires of Hell.

Veles whined again.

"I cannot believe I thought Hell was better than this!" Dean sucked in a huge breath, chest expanding, eyes closed in apparent bliss, "This is fucking glorious! It's almost as good as sex!"

"Dean!" Sam snapped indignantly but there was still a smile on his face. Castiel smiled too.

"Oh, hey, Cas is smiling again!" Dean pointed excitedly. He limped over, still not completely healed from his run in with the Jersey Devils, and placed a warm hand on Castiel's shoulder, "Dude, we owe you. Big time. You were right, we didn't belong down there."

"I think my original assumption was wrong." Cas murmured, feeling his strength slowly returning. He pushed himself gently off of Sam and stood on his own. Veles circled the three of them, huffing and whining, "I had assumed that you did not remember your human lives for the same reason that other demons did not; because the agony was too much to bear. Now I have come to believe that Crowley sealed your memories in poison chains and hellfire, binding them in your souls. He could not completely rob you of your humanity but he could hide it from you." His tone darkened and a thunder cloud passed briefly over his face, "He was using you to boost the powers of Hell, to create more weapons against the war in Heaven."

"Bastard," Dean growled, fists clenched at his sides, "He tricked us. We…" His words halted in a choked manner and he worked his jaw furiously, as if he was too ashamed to admit what had happened.

"He must have seen an opportunity in us," Sam carried on, his own expression one something like regret and anger, "We made a…a deal with him. Our lives for our father's. If Crowley took us, our dad would live, that was the deal." The youngest Winchester shook his head, "That was…god, that was years ago. Dad's probably long gone by now…"

"Go in peace knowing he is in Heaven, tainted child." Said a voice and suddenly they were everywhere.

Angels.

Wings of white, silver, gold, bronze, and diamond flashed through the mist as they surrounded the four. The troop was dressed in battle armor that gleamed with the early morning dew, ivory and silver twisting together with gold over robes of pure white. Swords were drawn, steel flashing as they raised them to their shoulders.

Veles whined for a third time and the whine became a growl. Sam, Dean, and Cas all backed against one another, shoulders brushing, facing out towards the angels surrounding them.

One angel with wings like polished silver stepped forward and smiled in a somehow demeaning manner at them. There was the impression of lion, eagle, man, and then he spoke and it was just as snobbish, just as obnoxious as that smile,

"Hello Brother Castiel. We've been trying to reach you for a long time."

"Zachariah." Castiel gasped, his blue eyes wide. He did not know if he should be joyous to see his brothers and sisters or wary. True, he had been hoping to return to Heaven, hoping that someone had been looking for him. But they had come prepared for battle, in full armor, with swords drawn. It was not the welcome party he'd expected.

"Everything will be all right now, Castiel." Said another angel, her hair fiery red, her wings burnished bronze, "We're going to take you home. We're going to set you free."

"We're going to purge that demonic taint from your Grace, brother," Zachariah said and hefted his sword so that it was aimed at Sam Winchester's throat,

"And we're going to kill the Demon Lord's who put it there."


	12. Chapter 12

_Sorry this took so long, scenes like this give me a little trouble and I got caught up in homework and my Destiel shots. I feel like this chapter didn't come out the way I wanted it to and I'm sure there's some grammatical and spelling errors in there somewhere (I was typing this very late at night to try and get it done); I reread it this morning but I might have missed some. So again, apologizing for the late update and any errors that crop up.  
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_Oh, and I posted more art on Tumblr. I tagged them "One Wing in the Fire" but if you don't feel like going there, I'll post them in my scraps on dA (hosekidragon . deviantart . com)._

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (12)<strong>

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><p>"No."<p>

The word was out and hanging in the air like an unexploded bomb before Castiel even realized he had said it. Everything seemed to freeze, curling mist hanging stationary where it was, angels becoming statues where they stood, swords still and gleaming in the morning light.

Zachariah tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, that smug smile never wavering, "Sorry, Castiel, but I thought I heard a negative connotation there. Maybe it was just my imagination?"

Castiel's jaw clenched. He could feel the Winchester brothers on either side of him, tense, quivering, poised, ready to react in whatever way was necessary. Cas knew better; they could not hope to outrun Zachariah's troop of angels. But fighting them seemed like a daunting and terrifying task. It was not uncommon for angels to hold friendly scuffles or training exercises amongst one another. But full fledged fighting was unheard of. Castiel's tainted Grace trembled at the thought of going up against this many of his brothers.

"The demon's stain on your soul has clouded your judgment, brother," Came a deep voice to their left and Cas' gaze darted for the briefest of seconds over to a dark skinned angel, wings of gold arching above his head, before they focused once more on Zachariah, "We have come to cleanse you. Everything will be all right."

"I will go with you," Castiel said slowly, carefully, "But only on your word that the Winchesters will not be harmed."

"Sorry Castiel, that's not how it works," Zachariah replied in a tone that suggested he was speaking to a retarded child, "We find a Demon Lord, we kill a Demon Lord."

"They are not even of demon kin anymore! They were never involved in the—!"

"You forget your place!" Zachariah snapped and thunder crashed under his words, church bells shattering with his breath. Castiel felt Sam and Dean flinch away from the noise.

"You are a regimental, you are a low ranker, you are easily replaceable." Zachariah continued in a low, dangerous voice, completely different from his former condescending tone, "The only reason we sought after you was because Gabriel ordered it." A sneer twisted the angel's face and there was something like a lion snarling, "You always were his favorite brother."

"Hey asshat," Dean had found his voice again, "What crawled up you butt and died, huh?" Sam made a hurried hushing noise, which Dean ignored, "We weren't a part of your stupid pissing contest with Asmodeus and Alastor, we never wanted to be a part of it. And we're not demons anymore. So there!"

Sam muttered something that sounded like "lame" and then grunted. Presumably because Dean had hit him.

Zachariah's eyes narrowed and Castiel felt the angel's power swell. Beside him, Veles growled and it sounded like the rumble of a volcano.

"But you have corrupted an angel, one of our brothers," Zachariah hissed and there was the rustling of wings and the clinking of armor as the other angels shifted, "And that is a crime for which we cannot forgive you. Demon scum."

He raised his sword and brought it swinging down towards Sam who was already making the move to duck the blade.

There was a blur of black-gray smoke, a whirlwind snarl, and Zachariah fell back with a scream as Veles leapt at him. Both of them went crashing to the ground and Zachariah's sword was knocked from his hand. Castiel leapt for it as the other angels attacked. The hilt seared his hand, the Grace in it rearing back from the thick blackness wrapped over his soul, but he held on. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he rose to his feet and swung the sword up, bringing it crashing against the blade of another angel.

"Brother!" The angel shouted, pulling back in a flurry of feathers, "You know not what you do! Fight against the demon taint on your soul, come back to yourself!"

"I am myself!" Castiel shouted in response, his ebony wings flaring wide to guard Sam and Dean, "And these boys have done nothing to deserve what punishment you see fit to give them! They do not belong in Hell!"

Fire lashed through the air, a sharp, short burst of orange and red that crackled like a whip. So the Winchesters still had just enough of that demon stain left to control fire. That would not help their case. As Castiel spun on the spot, using his wings to bat at the other angel, he caught a glimpse Dean ducking and weaving and dodging even as he struck back with thin streams of curling flames and Sam wrestling a sword away from another angel. Then he was facing his own opponent again and their swords slammed together, sending a painful, jarring shudder along the blade and up his arms. The pain in his hands built when the blades touched and Castiel didn't know how much longer he could hold on. He snapped his wings forward, intending to slam them against his opponent and catch him off guard. But the other angel saw what was coming and flared his own wings.

Diamond white feathers rammed into obsidian black, Grace smashed against hellfire, and Castiel fought dirty. He raised a booted foot from the ground and slammed it into his opponent's knee. There was a sharp crack and the angel screamed as he went down. Castiel, blinded by fury, raised the sword and made to plunge it into his brother's chest.

Someone grabbed the blade of the sword from over his shoulder and yanked on it. Unprepared, Castiel let it go with a gasp as the hilt scraped against his burned palms. Before he could turn around, a hand grasped a bunch of his feathers and pulled. Castiel shouted in pain and stumbled backwards until his foot caught on something and he slammed into the ground, crumpling his feathers.

Zachariah loomed over him, covered in deep scratches and bite marks from Veles' attack, radiating fury. He sword point was pressed against Cas' throat.

"Tainted, brother, and Gabriel still wants to bring you back to Heaven." The other angel hissed. Cas did not dare move. The sword tip burned against his skin, "You don't belong there anymore. You're fighting with _demons_, you're protecting the things that have killed your brothers."

"They were not involved." Cas said in a low voice.

"It matters not." Zachariah responded, "I regret that I have to do away with you myself but there is no saving you now. Good-bye, Brother Castiel."

"Good-bye yourself, you stupid son of a bitch."

A silver-gold sword suddenly sprouted from Zachariah's chest and the high-ranking angel made a strangled sort of gasping noise, his back arching and the sword falling limply from his hand to clatter dangerously across Castiel's chest before sliding to the ground. Cas grabbed the hilt, ignoring the stinging pain it brought, and rolled to his feet in time to see Dean yank the sword out of Zachariah's back and toss it to Sam. Sam caught it, whirled around, and met the blade of another angel with a resounding clang. Light poured out of Zachariah's mouth, his Grace flaring as it burst like a dying star, and then his human form shattered into a thousand shards of light that dissipated into the air.

"Dude," Dean chuckled, flashing a grin that should canines that looked a little too sharp to be normal, "That was epic."

"Dean, look out!" Cas launched himself across the trampled grass and shoved the Winchester out of the way as another angel swung down with his blade. He felt the cold steel slice easily through the some of the feathers of his left wing. Ice and fire shot down the muscle and bone and pinned his shoulder with pain, lancing into his heart. He gasped and fell to the ground, curling his wings around himself to try and inspect the damage.

"Cas! You're bleeding!" Sam's voice shouted and then there was a grunt and clang of metal on metal. Castiel didn't need Sam to tell him that. Great red globs of blood were oozing from his damaged wing. He tried to push it aside and get to his feet but the agony was dizzying and he stumbled, almost falling over again. He pulled at the strands of his Grace, trying to heal, and that only hurt him more.

Hands grabbed at the sleeve of his trench coat and pulled and Castiel, thinking it was one of the Winchesters, went with it. Until Sam shouted,

"Hey! Let him go!"

Cas yanked away from the grip and tripped over his own feet, getting out of the way as Sam charged the angel that had tried to drag Castiel away. The former angel collapsed to the ground, sharp teeth biting into his lower lip and drawing more blood, like he could stand to lose more. The pain in his hands was nothing but a numb sting compared to the thud pulsing angrily down his wing. It was almost blinding; the last time he had hurt this much was when Alastair had been torturing him and that seemed like it was ages ago.

"Cas! Move!" He heard Dean shout and he tried, he really did, but his legs were refusing, trembling under the injury to his sensitive wings and all he managed to do was trip sideways.

Hands caught him and they burned through his trench coat. Not demon hands, not friendly hand. Fevered blue eyes snapped around he heaved up the sword that seemed far too heavy in his trembling arms. The angel that had grabbed him used her wings to snap the blade from his hand and send it spinning to the ground. He looked at her, met her cold, hard, brown eyes, and begged her without words to let him and the Winchesters go.

"I'm sorry, brother," She said, her grip tightening and searing the skin beneath his clothes, "But this has to be done." And with that she spread her bronze wings. Another angel, blood and Grace dripping down the side of his face, swept up on Castiel's other side and grabbed his other arm. Castiel struggled weakly, pulling against the grips of his brother and sister, but he was no longer strong enough to fight back.

"Sam!" He shouted as the angels pulled him backwards, their wings pumping as they made to lift him up, "Dean! Help me!"

"Castiel!" Sam made a leap for the former angel but was blocked by a sword. The incredibly tall Winchester backpedaled and ducked the swing that was meant to take his head off, "Cas! Hang on! We're coming!"

Castiel felt his feet leave the ground and beat his uninjured wing in an attempt to spite his siblings but it was a weak flap that shed feathers more than anything else. He kicked his legs, pulled his arms, tossed his head, tried his hardest to get away but nothing seemed to work.

Until he remembered he had something the angels did not,

"VELES!"

The hell hound raced across the ground and took a flying leap. His iron teeth sank into the female angel's ankle. She cried out and the group dropped back to the ground. Veles was snarling and pulling and shaking his head back and forth, trying to rip the angel's foot right off. She screamed and let go of Castiel to fight the hell hound off. Cas smiled despite his pain and the situation.

There was another roar from behind and Dean slammed into the male angel, knocking his grip on Castiel off. Fire lashed through the air and the angel screamed in pain as flames licked at the feathers of his wings. Castiel started to sag to the ground when yet another hand snagged the scruff of his coat and hauled him to his feet, dragging him back so that his heels skidded across the flattened grass. He yanked back because he knew it wasn't Sam because he could see Sam struggling with another angel.

"Let go!" He wheezed, the collar of his button up shirt digging into his throat, "Let go of me!" He flapped his good wing again, battering at the angel behind him when a howl drew his attention and he saw Veles leave his first quarry to turn his attention to rescuing his master. But the angel he'd been attacking was not down for the count. She rose to her feet (or foot as she was wobbling slightly on her injured leg), raised her sword, and plunged it down into Veles' neck.

"Bastard!" Castiel screamed as the hell hound bucked, spat fire and blood, and then collapsed, twitching, to the ground, "Stop this! Stop fighting! It's senseless! We have done nothing wrong! We've done nothing!"

"They are demons," Snapped the angel that was holding tightly to him, "And your mind has been twisted by their taint. This is right. This is just."

"It is not just!" Castiel kicked out as the female angel, having retrieved her sword from Veles' neck, limped over and grabbed his arm again, "This is murder! You have no right! Let go of me! Sam! Dean!"

Again the brothers fought with a vengance, flames and swords clashing, but Castiel's feet had already left the ground again and he was being dragged away. Dean smashed the heel of his boot into an angel's face and ran across the clearing towards Cas and the angels that had a hold of him, sparks leaping between his fingers. He was shouting but Castiel couldn't hear his words because the angels had picked up speed and were rising faster and faster.

He struggled again, unbalanced them, managed to wrench an arm free, stretching out his hand, fingers splayed, reaching desperately for Dean's hand. Sam was chasing after his brother, gesturing angrily with the angel sword in his hand, his expression a mixture of rage and pain. They reached, they tried, they ran and still Cas was pulled farther and farther away.

And then, abruptly, there was a swirl of clouds and Dean and Sam were gone.

Castiel's hand remained outstretched, reaching into empty space as his brother and sister dragged him up towards Heaven.

He had wanted for so long to go home.

And now he wanted nothing more than to never see it again.


	13. Chapter 13

_Would you guys be interested in a "One Wing in the Fire" soundtrack?_

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (13)<strong>

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><p>Heaven was far too bright, far too loud, far too big, far too white for Castiel to be comfortable. Or maybe it was just the demon taint on his Grace.<p>

He was in a numb daze, dangling between the arms of the angels who had dragged him away from the brothers, away from Veles' dead form, away from something he had worked so hard to fix. The pain tangled with the dull sense of loss in his mind and wrapped him in a haze. He simply stared at the polished white marble that moved underneath him with wide, blank eyes. He knew there was a commotion around him, knew that angels were talking, knew they were talking about him and about what had happened, and he didn't care.

He found it extremely hard to care about anything.

Fire in the form of fingers grabbed his chin and yanked his head up and Castiel found himself staring into the face of his eldest and most powerful brother. It was Michael. The archangel's bright golden eyes stared directly into Cas' bright blue ones and Castiel tried, he really tried, to hold his brother's gaze. But there was so much Grace and power leaking from Michael's eyes that he had to turn his face away and look over Michael's shoulder instead, staring straight at the archangels six folded, gold and diamond wings that glittered like sunlight on the surface of crystal clear water.

"Oh, my poor brother," Michael's voice was bronze church bells and deep spaces wrapped in flames. He ran his hand over Castiel's head, fingers snagging in the former angel's dark hair, and Cas hissed. It felt like fire was coating his skull.

"My poor, tainted, brother," Michael repeated softly, "What have those demon's done to your precious Grace? Do not fear any longer, Castiel, we will pull the darkness from your soul and you will rejoin us once again. Born anew. The brother we raised from Hell and saved."

Castiel wanted to tell him no, he wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but the words wouldn't come, stuck on the rattling breath in his throat. He was in too much pain and all he could think was that this wrong and that it wasn't right and that Dean and Sam did not deserve to die. He wanted to say that Veles had not deserved to die.

"Take him to the infirmary." Michael commanded, sweeping out of Castiel's line of sight, "And strap him down tight. I am going to collect Uriel, Nathanael, and Seraphiel. I will need their help to extract all the demon taint on Castiel's soul."

The angels began dragging Cas across the floor again. He let his head drop, chin resting against his chest, knees almost touching the floor he was slouched so low in the grip of the two angels. The pain in his wing was becoming intolerable but it was nothing compared to the stabbing pain of betrayal vibrating through the weak strands of his Grace. This was all so very wrong. Was this how Heaven had always been? Had it always been blinding in its attempt to right what it saw as wrong? Had it always simply done and never questioned? Castiel tried to remember but could not compare this Heaven he was seeing now to the Heaven he had been raised in and fought for. How ironic it would be if Hell how been the very thing he had needed to open his eyes to the truth.

A door opened, there was much shuffling and activity, and then Cas felt himself being stretched out on a metal slab. Panic raced through his mind at the familiar feeling, at the reminder of Alastair's cold lair, and he flailed, crying weakly and the other angels swarmed over him and pinned him down. They lashed his wrists and ankles tightly to the table and pinned his wings down, being careful not to further irritate his injured one. He struggled, whimpering, as they swept around him. He could see the darting, part fearful, part hateful looks they were giving him, edging away from the black coils wound around his Grace and he hated them for their prejudice and then hated himself for being just like them.

"Castiel!" An angel with a curl of brown hair, a friendly, slightly pudgy face that was a mask of worry, and six, silver and sapphire wings pushed his way into the room and ran to the side of the table. He was short and his wings looked too big for his body but Gabriel was an archangel and not a force to be trifled with.

"Castiel," Gabriel pressed a hand to Cas' chest and the former angel cringed at the searing pain it brought. Gabriel pulled his hand back sharply, looking even more upset than before, "Are you all right, bro? Hey, someone heal his wing!" No one moved, "Heal him now before he passes out!" One of the angels slid tentatively up to the black feathers still leaking blood and Grace and, after a fervently terrified glance at Cas, reached out to begin the healing process.

"Sheesh, you'd think you were made of poison," Gabriel snorted, turning his gaze back to his younger brother, "Hey, you're going to be just fine. Promise."

"Gabriel…" Castiel gasped, wincing at the hot tendrils of Grace tugging and mending his wing, "I want to go back. The…the Winchesters have done no wrong. Please, brother…"

An unreadable expression twisted Gabriel's features and he opened his mouth to respond when the door opened again and in strode Michael. He was trailed by three other angels, Seraphim like him but lower ranking than himself or Gabriel. Seraphiel took one look at Castiel's black wings, his dark hair, his sharpened teeth and claws, and did nothing to hide the disgust she felt, letting it display clearly across her face. Uriel simply smirked and cracked his fingers. Nathanael said nothing and remained as blank-faced as ever.

"Gabriel," Michael said and there was a false sort of mild surprise in his voice, "How nice of you to join us. Will you be aiding us in ripping that black stain from Castiel's Grace? Because if you are not then I suggest you step back. You are in the way."

Michael and Gabriel had never been on the best of terms.

Gabriel didn't even bother to disguise the dislike on his face as he moved out of the way. He touched Cas' shoulder lightly as he moved against the wall and even though the touch burned, Castiel felt a little reassured. Gabriel still believed in him, Gabriel still cared about him, Gabriel still wanted to look out for his favorite younger brother.

Michael strode up and towered over Castiel, hands clasped importantly behind his back. The other three Seraphim moved around the table so they were all clustered at a point where they could reach Castiel. There was a heavy silence wherein Cas and Michael stared at one another and then Michael raised his hands and said,

"This will hurt, brother. But it is for the greater good."

Then four pairs of hands slammed against Castiel's chest, Grace grabbed onto his soul, and he screamed at the flames ripping through his body.

They were brutal in their assault. They tore at the demon taint, prying it with unforgiving hooks of power from Castiel's Grace, digging deep into it to get every scrap they could. Castiel shuddered and screamed and bucked against their invasion. Never had he felt so wronged, so hurt, so _violated_. They were stripping ruthlessly away at him, he could feel his own Grace writhing as they ripped the blackness away, It was like tearing a sticky bandage away and feeling the sting as it took a layer of skin with it but on a level that was ten times worse.

This was not right.

This was not how one was saved.

And then, out of spite and pain and anguish, Castiel used his own Grace to snatch a shred of that demon taint away from the reach of his brothers and sister. He pulled it deep within himself and wrapped layer upon layer of his Grace around it, protecting it, shielding it. If he was never going to leave Heaven again, if he was never going to see Sam or Dean again, then he wanted to remember them. He wanted to remember what they had taught him, what they had given him, and what they had helped him to see. He wanted to keep a piece of Hell with him always to remind him that Heaven was not always right.

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><p>It took two days for Castiel to wake up after the purging of his Grace.<p>

It took another day for him to become coherent and half of another to stop lashing out at anyone who came near him.

He did not leave the infirmary for three days and when he did, he was escorted straight to his room and he had not left since.

When Gabriel came to see him, he found Castiel wrapped in his pitch black wings in a corner of the room. The bed was undisturbed, he lights were off, and it looked as though all the food that had been delivered had simply been dumped into the trash.

"You're acting like a child," The archangel muttered, shutting the door behind him and flicking on the light. Castiel flinched and hid himself behind his feathers, "Castiel!" Gabriel growled, striding across the room to his brother, "This is not solving anything!"

"Then what do you propose I do, Gabriel?" Castiel asked hoarsely from behind his wings.

Gabriel fumed. He wanted to grab Castiel and shake him until his Grace rattled, he wanted to grip those ebony feathers so hard that they hurt, he wanted to shout at his brother, to scream at him until Castiel lashed out at him because Castiel fighting, Castiel struggling against something, was better than Castiel sulking silently in a corner.

But he didn't do any of those things.

Instead, the archangel knelt down, silver-white robe pooling around his feet, spread his largest pair of wings, and wrapped them around his brother. He let his cooling Grace roll off his wings and wrap around Castiel, he intertwined his shining feathers with Castiel's black ones in a show of affection and brotherly protection, and he gently pried Castiel's wings apart just enough to press a kiss into his brother's dark hair.

"My favorite brother," Gabriel said in a low voice, "Is also my stupidest one."

"I am not stupid." Castiel responded flatly but he lifted his head and looked at Gabriel. His eyes were still the same, shocking blue they had always been but never had Gabriel seen them so hurt and empty and _hopeless_.

Any anger Gabriel might have felt towards Castiel's attitude drained away and he pressed the back of his hand to his brother's forehead. It was surprisingly warm, compared to the coolness of his Grace, and he couldn't help the smile that twitched across his lips, "So, you picked up a few things from me after all, didn't you? Held onto a little bit of that spitfire, didn't you?"

Castiel's eyes widened in panic that he had been discovered but Gabriel only chuckled and sat back on the floor, withdrawing his wings and folding them loosely behind him. Castiel's own wings had parted but they still pressed tight against his sides and he was still wedged into the corner. Well, it was a start, at least. Gabriel knew that Cas had been hurt—betrayed, even, it seemed—by the brothers and sisters he had relied on to be honest, and true, and good, and to do the right thing. It wasn't that Gabriel had never seen the flaws of Heaven until now, it was just that it held no interest in him to do anything about it, just as the war against Hell had no interest for him. In fact, he had apposed Castiel's involvement in it. But Cas was stubborn, annoyingly so at times, and had disregarded Gabriel's warnings to instead do the "right thing". At this point, Gabriel didn't know if letting Castiel go had been the best thing or not. Hell had opened his eyes, but it had also hurt him greatly. He might never trust anyone ever again.

"It is the only part of the Winchesters I have left." Castiel said in a voice that was only two steps above a whisper, "I want to remember them and what I learned from them."

"That's fine," Gabriel leaned back, propping himself up with one hand on the floor as the other flourished a lollipop into existence, "Just don't sulk around here doing nothing, it's not healthy."

"There is nothing left for me to do." Castiel grunted, dropping his gaze to the floor, "I will not go back to that pointless war and I have always been a soldier. I don't know how to do anything."

"Do anything you want." Gabriel said around the candy in his mouth and Castiel looked up at him sharply, "No, I'm being completely serious. Do whatever you feel like. I do." He smirked around the candy in his mouth.

There was silence for a moment and then Cas said, "I want to go back to Earth. I want to be with the Winchesters. I want to protect them."

Gabriel's shoulders slumped and he shook his head, "Sorry bro, I can't do that. And I can't just conveniently _let_ you do that; they'd know it was me. You have to stay here."

"There is nothing up here for me, Gabriel."

"You can work for me."

The offer was light hearted, nonchalant, almost a thing said in passing like a comment about the weather but Cas tilted his head curiously to the side, brow furrowing slightly, "But you just said you do not do anything."

Gabriel paused for a moment and then bit down hard on his lollipop, break off a chunk with a sharp crack. He worked it around in his mouth for a while, chewed it, swallowed, and then stuck the candy between his teeth again before saying,

"While the majority of our dear brothers and sisters have forgotten what our purpose was supposed to be in light of the war, some of us haven't. I've got a small, merry band of angels who didn't join in the war or opposed it. We still support the humans, we still help them, answer their prayers, keep giving them light, that sort of thing." Gabriel lifted his head ever so slightly and his wings opened halfway and the short archangel suddenly seemed to be a lot bigger. There was the impression of fire and diamonds and the proud head of a great white tiger,

"We still sing the Song of the Host, Castiel. We sing it for man."

Castiel blinked and, after a slight pause, asked hesitantly, "Who joined you?"

Gabriel snorted and deflated, his puffed up chest collapsing a little as he folded his wings in and leaned one arm on his knee. He crunched down noisily on his lollipop as he spoke, "Not as many as I would have liked. Remiel, Haniel, some unnamed angels, a couple of cherubs. Oh, and Balthazar."

"Balthazar? But you…dislike him."

That drew a laugh from the archangel, "Yeah, I know. Me and Balthy have had some bad blood between us but we've been on better terms since I pushed the order to find and rescue you from Hell." A soft, honest smile crossed Gabriel's features, "He was your best friend, Castiel, of course he would do anything to help you."

Castiel dropped his gaze to the floor, head lowering, and Gabriel wondered if maybe he had pushed too many buttons as once, that all of this was too much for Cas to take in. He'd been in Hell for almost three years and then been dragged back home to nearly be crushed by the beings he had looked on as family for his entire existence. It might have been too much.

"I am not an angel anymore, Gabriel." Castiel said carefully, surprising his brother, "But nor am I a demon. I am not sure what I am but I cannot bear staying here."

"Cas, I can't—."

"I know you can't!" Castiel bit his lip and let out a frustrated huff, "I know you can't and I am not angry with you. I don't blame you in any way, Gabriel. But I don't think I'm up for singing the Song of the Host for humanity, my Grace would just not be in it."

"That's okay," Gabriel said with wide grin, sweeping himself to his feet, "I didn't think you'd want to start singing the praises of Heaven again any time soon. I've got a better position for you." He thrust out a hand, offering it to his brother, who took it tentatively and let Gabriel pull him to his feet, "We'll work this out, Cas, don't worry about."

"Big Brother Gabriel's got everything under control."


	14. Chapter 14

_Sorry for the shoddy, short chapter with barely any decent content, it's finals and I've got a boatload of work to do. Hope this keeps you guys sated until I can get back on this thing again. (runs off to bury herself in homework again)_

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (14)<strong>

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><p>Gabriel was an ass.<p>

A well meaning ass but an ass all the same.

Castiel knew there were far worse tasks he could be doing—sorting the piles of paperwork that Gabriel had tendency to let build up, for one—but tending to the fledglings was either extremely busy or extremely dull.

Fledglings were newly created angels; they were tiny, humanoid babies with tiny, downy wings on their backs. They grew quickly, going from infants to young adults (in human years, the late teens or early twenties) in a manner of months, but they were a riot when they were stirred up. The worst were the fledglings who had grown enough to walk and talk or the fledglings just on the cusp of adulthood trying to learn how to use their wings.

Gabriel had placed Castiel in charge of a group right in the middle. They were young enough that their wings were just staring to shed their downy quality but were old enough to understand the more complex aspects of life.

Such as the fact that Castiel's black wings were very unnatural.

He was on the job with Anael and Remiel and while Remiel was friendly enough towards him (though that might have been because he was working within Gabriel's little group), Anael was downright cold. Castiel, for his part, did his best to ignore both of them and go about his duties. But it was hard. Anael made it a point to send him at least two cold glares a day and Remiel crowded into his personal space when he was around. And that wasn't even mentioning the fledglings.

"Castiel," A small fist grabbed a handful of his feathers and brought Cas to a standstill. He looked down and saw a girl with messy white wings staring up at him with a slight frown on her features, "Why are your wings black? No other angel has black wings. Tyriel says it's because you're being punished because you did something bad. Did you kill someone, Castiel, are you being punished?"

Cas thought very carefully about how he was going to answer that. Michael had never said it out loud but Castiel got the impression that the archangel did not want Castiel telling everyone about his time spent in Hell. So he simply looked down at the fledgling angel and said,

"Yes, I am being punished. But it is not for the reasons you think."

And he gently tugged his wing from her grip and swept away to break up a squabble across the room.

It was easy to break up fights between fledglings but Castiel loathed to do it. The aftermath usually entailed making the fledglings touch one another with their Grace to create a stronger brotherly bond and discourage further fighting. It sickened Castiel. It was almost brainwashing. Still, he did as he was ordered and grabbed the backs of the two fledglings' robes, pulling them easily apart,

"That is enough. What happened? Why are you fighting?"

"Zariel said my wings are stupid!" A boy with the cream and pinkish wings of a cherub pouted.

"They are!" Snapped the other, presumably Zariel, whose silver wings were still more down than actual feathers.

"No one's wings are stupid." Castiel said flatly, crouching down and spreading his own black ones to encompass them all. The fledglings gaped at the ebony feathers surrounding them and then looked at one another again, apparently comparing their wings to Cas'.

"Are you going to fight again?" He asked after a silent moment or two.

"No, Castiel." They answered in unison.

"Good," Cas straightened and folded his wings behind him again, "And Zariel, before you begin to insult others, perhaps you should learn to tie your robe properly."

The fledgling cherub giggled and Zariel's face turned red, "But you don't even wear a robe!" He pointed out, tiny fingers fumbling with the notes on his clothes.

It was true enough. Castiel couldn't bring himself to don the robes of his brothers and sisters again. He had instead opted for a gray tunic and dark cloth pants, leaving his feet bare, and wore his buckled trench coat over the whole thing. He received many a scornful look for the ensemble but, like everything else, he chose to ignore it.

As for the fledglings, he simply gave them both equally cold looks in order to discourage any further questions and moved away. He was tired, though he would never admit it. He was tired, and hurt, and maybe a little angry and everything he did was beginning to feel pointless and empty. He put on a façade for Gabriel, not wanting to hurt his brother's feelings, but the Winchesters had been Castiel's project—his _family_—and to simply abandon them, not knowing whether they were alive or not, hurt more than he realized. They were fire, yes, but they had been a warm, comforting fire as opposed to Heaven's cold, stark white light.

And Castiel ached to think that they were dead because of him.

* * *

><p>"Hey Cassie, what're you up to?"<p>

"Hello Balthazar." Castiel did not look up when he heard the other angel approach. He was standing on the edge of a marble and pearl and silver balcony, his hands resting easily on the railing, his black wings half folded at his back.

"So," The white winged angel sauntered up beside Castiel and leaned against the railing as nonchalantly as you please, "I heard Gabriel roped you into our little rebellion."

"Gabriel did not rope me into anything." Cas replied flatly, "He is my only friend here."

"Oh? And where does that leave me?"

There was a flicker of those blue eyes in Balthazar's direction before Castiel dropped his gaze to the clouds swirling below the balcony again, "You are my friend as well."

Balthazar smirked and the two stood in silence for a while. After a moment or two, the other angel raised his hand and brushed his fingertips along the edge of Castiel's wing. Cas twitched and pulled his wings in tightly against his back. Balthazar dropped his hand, looking a little hurt, and returned his attention to the clouds below,

"What are you doing up here, Castiel?"

"I am looking for them."

"Ah. The Winchesters."

Cas didn't answer, he didn't need to. Balthazar sighed and propped his chin in his hand, ruffling his snow white wings as his feathers bristled, "I've heard something about them."

Castiel looked up sharply, staring at the other angel, silently urging him to continue. When he just kept staring out at the clouds, Cas huffed and his wings flapped once, lightly, "_Balthazar_." He said warningly.

"I heard they were being hunted." At Cas' sharp intake of breath, Balthazar straightened up and turned to him, "Really Cassie, what did you expect? Heaven's hunting them down to kill them. Hell's hunting them down because they want them back. They're want—what are you doing?"

For Cas had put on foot up on the gold and pearl railing and was apparently attempting to climb up on it. He did not look at Balthazar when the other angel voiced his question, simply said in a perfectly flat tone, "I am going to fall."

"No!" Balthazar grabbed Castiel's arm and yanked him back, "Castiel, falling is _not_ the answer!"

Castiel struggled against Balthazar's grip, teetering on the edge of the railing. His wings flapped, the tips of his feathers battering at the other angel's arms and face. Balthazar brought his other hand up and grabbed Castiel's arm, flaring his own wings and beating them as hard as he could. Balthazar had the upper hand; Castiel wasn't balanced very well on the railing and he tipped over, falling on top of Balthazar so that they both slammed into the marble floor with yelps of pain and a flurry of feathers.

"Let go of me!" Cas snapped, trying to shove Balthazar off of him.

"No." Balthazar growled, "You're not thinking straight, Cas. You're hurt and you're tired and you're angry. You've been betrayed by the people you consider your family, your Grace has been violated, and the only people who can help you up here are me and Gabriel." The white winged angel leaned in close and said in a low voice, "But if you fall, if you jump off that railing, Cas, then we can't do anything to help you."

"I don't need your help." Castiel said flatly, glaring angrily at his friend.

Balthazar's shoulders slumped and he sat back, "Cassie, Cassie, you're doing it all wrong again, just like when we were fledglings. Stop being a stubborn moron trying to do things by yourself and let us help you. Contrary to popular belief, I'm more than a thieving smartass and Gabriel's more than a trickster with a candy fetish! We're working on it, Cas, you just have to give us a little more time."

"Working on it?" Castiel relaxed, taken aback both by Balthazar's words and by the honesty in the angel's face, "Working on what?"

His friend stood up, fanning his wings, and held his hand out, helping Cas to his feet, "We're keeping it as quiet as possible. I'm tired of seeing you mope around like a lost puppy—."

"I do not mope around."

"—and so is Gabriel." Balthazar wrapped an arm around Castiel's shoulders and steered him back into the building, his white wings affectionately brushing against Cas' black ones, reassuring him. When he spoke again, it was a low tone barely above a whisper, "We're working on a way to get you back down to Earth, to get you back to the brothers. And we think we've almost got it. But you have to trust us, Cas, just wait a little bit longer."

Cas was reluctant trust anyone in Heaven ever again but Balthazar had been his friend for many, many years, had fought beside him against Hell, and he gotten him out of more sticky situations than Gabriel had gotten him into. Still, he couldn't find any words to adequately describe his feelings so he simply nodded. Balthazar beamed, clapped him on the shoulder, and proceeded to eloquently gripe about the paperwork that Gabriel let pile up and how he was tired of sorting through it all.

To anyone passing by, they would have seen Balthazar's over exaggerated gestures, his many eye rolls, his annoyed drawl, and would have assumed that those things were the cause of Castiel's sudden, tiny, barely-there-at-all smile.

Which was probably for the best.


	15. Chapter 15

_Okay, this is all kind of up in the air for this chapter because I had an idea but then I didn't like it but I couldn't think of how to change it so I just stuck with it and the result is…kind of this. Apologies if this feels like a really an easy-way-out kind of thing._

_Also apologies for the lateness of the chapter, the shoddiness of the writing, and the shortness of it. Like I said, finales time and art school finales are a bitch and a half. So again, sorry for this chapter as a whole._

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (15)<strong>

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><p>Castiel tried his hardest to keep his appearance up and his hopes down. It would not do at all to get excited about a plan that might never come to fruition. So he forced himself to go through each day with a blank face and only a quiet stirring in his wings that betrayed very little besides his discomfort.<p>

Still, old habits were hard to break and Cas found himself dozing off with the lingering desire to sleep or occasionally letting his mind wander to think about food. And he always thought about the Winchesters. Balthazar had said that they were alive but were being hunted by Heaven and Hell. If they were still alive, then Castiel would be hard pressed to find them. And that was only if Balthazar and Gabriel's so-called brilliant plan worked at all.

"Won't you get into trouble?" He asked when the three of them were gathered in Castiel room one evening. Cas' feathers were ruffled and bent out of shape from his day watching over the fledglings and teaching them to stretch their wings properly and groom the down out of them.

"Nah, we're too sneaky." Balthazar chuckled, sitting cross-legged on the couch, his wings fanned out behind him.

"And clever." Gabriel added from where he was sprawled on the floor, flipping through notes and tomes.

"But if Michael finds out, if he catches you—."

"Stop worrying about it, Cassie." Balthazar interjected, "Michael won't catch us. We've got it covered."

"What about when I leave. He will notice." Castiel wasn't letting it go. He wanted to go back to Earth to protect the Winchesters but he did not want to abandon Balthazar and Gabriel to the whims of Michael.

"It's _fine_." Gabriel stressed, looking up from his books, "We've worked it out. As far as Michael will be concerned, you'll simply have fallen. We're almost ready, okay, just gimmie a sec here to add the finishing touches."

Castiel fidgeted on his spot on the floor near the couch, wings twitching, uncomfortable. Balthazar scooted along the couch until he was behind Cas and then reached down and began to groom the other angel's wings. Castiel jolted and looked over his shoulder but Balthazar kept a blank face, ignoring him and keep his gaze on his work. Cas turned back to Gabriel to see his brother holding up a small glass vial ad concentrating on it with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes.

"Gabriel?"

"Shh, I'm concentrating."

Castiel closed his mouth and leaned back into Balthazar's hands as his brother's fingers worked into his feathers. Gabriel tilted the bottle back and forth, watching the way the light hit it, and then brought it to his lips. He let out a soft breath into the vial and, to Castiel's amazement, a trail of bright blue-white light left Gabriel's mouth to curl at the bottom of the vial. Gabriel grabbed the cork and jammed it over the top before turning to the other two, beaming.

"I did it! We did it!"

"What did you do?" Castiel pulled away from Balthazar to crawl closer to his other brother and peer at the swirling light inside. His eyes widened and he looked to the archangel in shock, "Gabriel, is that…is that your _Grace_!"

"A little of it." Balthazar answered as he moved over beside them, "We knew there were ways of restraining Grace but no one had tried _containing_ it before. You understand what happens when an angel falls, right?"

"Their Grace is ripped out of them," Castiel said slowly, "It…it is torn from them and leaves a wound, a gaping hole. That space where their Grace was becomes infected, corrupted, diseased. They become something twisted, a monstrosity that appears angelic in nature but is far from it. They become angry and hateful and destroyers. Like Lucifer…"

"That's why I couldn't let you fall." Balthazar clapped a hand on Cas' shoulder, "You wanted to find the Winchesters and if you fell, there would have been no possibility of that."

"This," Gabriel said, sounding extremely pleased with himself as he held up the small bottle, "Will fix all of that. When you fall, take this with you; a bit of archangel Grace. It should seal up that hole in you before any bad stuff can creep in, all right." He pressed the vial into Castiel's hands and closed his fingers around them,

"We'll cover for you, Cas. Just go find your family."

Castiel sucked in a breath, stared down at the vial in his hands, filled with his brother's Grace, and felt a swell of affection for his siblings. He spread his black wings and curled them around Balthazar and Gabriel, pulling them close so he could let his own Grace brush theirs. He had no words that he could use to express his gratitude towards his brothers.

And no words were really needed at all.

* * *

><p>They had to wait for a week until they could set the plan into motion.<p>

A week because it was then that Michael would be efficiently distracted with a war council and probably wouldn't notice anything unusual until several hours afterward.

As soon as the archangel had ducked into the room, Gabriel and Balthazar swept off to collect Castiel. There was an awkward moment when Remiel tried to distract Anael, failed, and Balthazar's wicked quick tongue had to weave a believable lie so they could get Castiel away from the fledglings. But it all worked out in the end and several minutes later, the trio was at the balcony Cas had tried to fall from only days before.

Castiel leaned over the railing and felt his breath catch in his throat. Before it had seemed so easy, so simple, like it was the most obvious choice in the world to climb up onto the rail and jump off, to fall and lose his Grace. It had seemed like the best choice because anything was better than suffering through the misery that was Heaven. Now he felt an inkling of fear. His Grace resisted the idea, curling inside him, shying away from the brink, and his wings trembled against his back. He swallowed and tried to take a deep breath but his throat was too constricted and all he managed to do was a shuddering, hiccupping sort of noise.

Warm fingers pressed into the feathers where his wings met his back and Castiel turned around to see Gabriel smiling warmly at him, Balthazar at his shoulder.

"It's gonna be okay, Cas," The archangel said, squeezing Castiel's feathers briefly before releasing them and taking a step back, "You're going to be fine. I promise."

"I will…I will miss both of you." Castiel was embarrassed to hear his voice crack.

"Hey, no tears," Balthazar said, plastering a wide smile on his face though the pain in his eyes said enough, "We'll come and visit you when we can. Just find those brothers, Cassie."

Cas pulled out the vial of Grace, looked at it, and then threw his arms around Gabriel in a hug. Startled, the shorter angel stumbled backwards under the display of affection. Then he smiled softly, even though the edges were ragged with sadness,

"See you later, little brother."

"Good-bye, Gabriel." Cas stepped back until he hit the railing, "Good-bye, Balthazar."

Balthazar opened his mouth, seemed to choke on his own words, and instead he simply waved, forcing that same smile.

And with that last image of Heaven, the image of his brothers smiling at him, Castiel tipped himself backwards off the railing and tumbled down into the clouds below.

And he fell.


	16. Chapter 16

_Oh gosh, I am SO SORRY this took so long to post! I really, truly am! I ended up dragged into another fandom and I didn't have any good fics to inspire me and finales and I'm just really, really, REALLY sorry this took so long for me to finish._

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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (16)<strong>

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><p>Dean and Sam were in trouble.<p>

Since the angels had stolen Castiel away, they had situated themselves amongst the humans, swinging easily back into their old lifestyle as if they had never left. They hunted, lived in seedy motels, saved people from terrible fates, and hid under false names.

But they missed Castiel.

Neither of them said it out loud because real men did not talk about their feelings, real men did not sit on the hood of their brother's salvaged '67 black Chevy Impala and sob their sorry hearts out, real men stowed it all away and pretended it wasn't a problem.

Of course it was but neither of them mentioned it. That wasn't how it worked.

And now they were neck deep in trouble.

Crowley's agents and Heaven's warriors had been chasing them across the country, determined to either capture or kill them. The brothers had managed to elude them for the most part, apt at warding sigils and protective measures, but some of the demons had managed to catch up to them. And now they were out numbered, surrounded on a backwoods road in the middle of nowhere, two against seven.

Hardly fair odds.

"It was a good life." Dean muttered, swinging his shotgun around at the circling demons, looking for a good shot. There wasn't one.

"Don't talk like that." Sam snapped back, all bitchface and six feet of taunt muscle.

"If we die up here do you think we'll end up back in Hell?" Dean asked, jabbing at a demon who'd wandered to close. It hissed and skittered backwards.

"Well I don't think Heaven's going to exactly welcome us with open arms, Dean." Sam growled. Silence fell upon the group as they eyed one another. It was tense and thick and dramatically theatrical.

"Fuck it," Dean said and fired.

One of the demons dropped back with a scream and the rest surged forward. Sam was suddenly a blur, spinning on the spot to slice open the chest of a demon with his specially tempered knife, its blade carved in ancient runes. Dean preferred his gun but both of them were more than willing to burn their enemies if given the chance. If anything, their flame powers did come in handy when banishing vengeful spirits with a good ol' salt-and-burn.

Dean ducked the swing of a demon as he reloaded his shotgun and kicked the knees out from underneath another. A blow to his side sent him stumbling and he fell over, jarring his shoulder against the hard pavement of the road. A demon loomed over him and, without time to fire, he swung the butt of his gun up to smash into its chin. It fell back with a garbled scream of pain and Dean rolled to his feet, cocking the gun and firing a nice sized hole in the thing's chest.

There was the screech of something sharp scraping against metal and Dean whirled around to see a demon pinning Sam to the side of the Impala and trying to cut him with his own knife. Sam, fighting back as best he could, was keeping the knife well away from his face but it was stabbing the car instead.

It was stabbing Dean's baby.

Unacceptable.

Dean let out a wordless battle cry, launched himself at the demon, looped an arm around its neck, and hauled it off his younger brother kicking and screaming. It struggled in his grip, trying to stab him with the knife and failing because Dean kept twisting out of its way. He focused on where his hand was pushed against the side of the demon's face and it started screaming as heat and sparks flared to life, licking at its flesh. Dean didn't let it go until it had stopped moving.

When he dropped it to the ground, its flesh still smoking where it had been burned, and turned to continue the fight he found the four remaining demons regrouping, all hissing a spitting and cursing. He scooped up Sam's knife and his shotgun, tossed the blade to Sam, and spun around to fire his gun. It cracked in gloomy afternoon and another demon fell back with a snarl of pain only to scramble back to its feet and launch itself at Dean with its teeth bared.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>"You keep breaking my car. First you let her get stabbed and then you bleed all over her seats."<p>

"Dean, it's just a car. You've only had it for, like, a month—."

"If that stains, I'll never forgive you—ow! That hurt, bitch!"

"Don't be such a crybaby. Jerk."

Dean smirked as he leaned on Sam, purposefully leaning more of his weight on him as his younger brother struggled to open the motel room door. The fight had been a bad one and neither of them had gotten away from it unscathed. Sam had a deep cut in his arm that was oozing blood everywhere and a gritty looking scrape on his cheek, Dean was sporting some bruised ribs and several lacerations through his favorite T-shirt, and both of them had swelling bruises and scraped knuckles.

Sam dumped his brother on one of the motel beds, dropped the keys on the table, and went to collect the first aid kit. Dean shed his leather jacket and slowly peeled off his ruined shirt, hissing as it caught in the cuts across his skin. He was in bad shape and so was Sam. Another attack like that, from either side, could do them in.

Dean really, really, really didn't want to go back to Hell. His memories tangled together in his head, a confusion of senses. He remembered being a Demon Lord and being pleased with his status and his power and all the souls he'd tormented. But at the same time, his human mind rebelled at the pleasure, sickened by the things he'd done. Dean could only assume that Sam was going through the same thing; he'd sometimes catch his younger brother staring blankly into space, looking for all the world as if he'd walked into the room and forgotten why he'd walked it. Dean himself probably wore the same expression once or twice (maybe more). It was a painful thing, made worse by the fact that they had been in Hell for, by Sam's estimate, at least a century, half a century if they were lucky and no Winchester was that lucky.

That meant they were completely alone. All their friends, all their family, all the people they had ever known were long gone. It was hard enough with that but factor in all of the changes and the two brothers were almost completely lost. Internet, cellphones, fashion, speech patterns, social norms, slang, mp3 players, computerized cars, and a whole other assortment of things they had to adjust to. But the brothers were nothing if not adaptable and it hadn't taken them long to pick up the stride of the world they had been thrust back into. Dean had his car and Sam had already picked up a laptop. They needed to establish connections with other hunters and find places to start storing information and weapon caches.

But that could wait. For now, they needed to patch themselves up and get some—in Dean's most humble opinion—well deserved rest.

Humble opinions went out the window when Sam dumped half the bottle of alcohol on Dean's chest and the two ended up squabbling for the better half of an hour.

* * *

><p>Castiel thought he might be in shock.<p>

He had experienced it before, of course, but this was overwhelming.

Falling had not been, no pun intended, graceful. If wasn't supposed to be, obviously, but Cas hadn't expected the veritable pummeling that had come from it.

As he'd dropped from Heaven, he'd felt something twist, wrench, and pull. Being in Hell, with his Grace slowly being corrupted, had been like a small paper cut on the knuckle of his finger. Every time he moved, it split open again and stung with a ferocity that was shocking for such a tiny wound, never completely healing. After the demon taint had been ripped from him, his Grace had felt more like a bruise, sore and tender but no longer bleeding with every twitch.

Falling, though, _falling_ felt as if someone had forgone the small beatings of paper cuts and bruises and had simply stepped up to ripping off his limbs. Rusty meat hooks bit into his Grace, wrenching on it, pulling piece after piece from his body as he tumbled out of the sky. His black wings beat the air, trying to stay upright even as the blinding, mind-numbing agony of it brought tears to his eyes. It was disorienting, wrong, painful to have a part of him ripped out from the inside, drastically different from his brothers picking it apart.

And crashing was just as painful.

Slamming into the earth, driving into it so hard it buckled and collapsed beneath him. The last shards of his Grace were torn away with the force of his impact and the void left inside Castiel felt like a black hole trying to fill itself. The emptiness unfolded over and over again as it searched for something to consume and Castiel trembled at its hunger. He dug his fingers into the ground and pushed himself up on trembling limbs only to tumble sideways when his arms gave out. Desperate to stop the void from consuming him, he reached into his coat and pulled out the vial of Gabriel's Grace.

Castiel fought with the stopper for a long moment, his fingers weak and struggling but unable to free it. So he dug his teeth into it and pulled. There was a light pop and the cork fell free. Gabriel's Grace swarmed out of the tiny vial and into his mouth. Castiel fell back with a gasp as it flooded the void inside him, burning hot against the cold edges of the darkness, pushing it away and filling it with light before it settled into a warm beat in his chest.

The thing that was neither angel nor demon nor human lay in the crater left from his impact for a long time, simply gathering his thoughts and breathing evenly. The sky above him was a wonderful shade of blue, the thin clouds circling the spot around his landing, disturbed by his fall. Castiel sucked in a deep breath through his nose, taking in the scent of the fresh earth around him, the crisp scent of pine trees, and, a fair distance away, the stench of pavement and motor exhaust. He lay in the dirt for a moment longer and then pushed himself up so that he could clamber out of the crater he'd made.

His body ached from the fall, the pain of his Grace being ripped out, and from the impact, but no place hurt more than the base of his wings. Castiel twisted around to look and saw his wings half folded at his back, his feathers askew and crooked and bent. He would have to groom them but for now he needed to find Dean and Sam.

Castiel experimentally tried to spread his wings but winced as that sharp ache intensified and ended up folding them behind his back again.

It looked like he would have to do this the hard way.


	17. Chapter 17

_I can't write finale chapters. It's a curse._

_Yeah, that's right guys, this is the last chapter. I wanted to work Bobby in here somehow but it never worked out that way. So anyway, thanks for sticking around with this and reading it and reviewing it and all your lovely, lovely words!_

_See you around! Good hunting! (PS. Thinking of doing a full length Destiel fic but it's still up in the air. Dunno if there's any Destiel readers here but opinions?)  
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><p><strong>One Wing in the Fire (17)<strong>

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><p>Finding the Winchesters, Castiel decided after a month, was like finding a needle in a stack of needles in a field of needles when it was pitch black out and he had no idea where to start.<p>

They were experts at hiding their trail from humans, angels, and demons and Castiel had to use all his resources to try and track them down. He could not utilize Gabriel's Grace the way he would have with his own—it was like a patch job that, if plucked at, would wear away—so he was left with what few powers he had. The shreds of his Grace still clung to the edges of the hole that had been inside him, that last trace of demon taint on his soul, his wits, and his mind. And as a strategist, Castiel had a very sharp mind.

He picked up their trail based on their hunts. Castiel knew that the brothers would have fallen back into their old ways, no doubt trying to make up for their mistakes in Hell. It was easy enough to follow them cross-country, tracking the trail of mystery circumstances that had been mysteriously fixed, and Castiel took the time to learn how to act around humans. He did not fully understand why they did some things the way they did or what certain turns of phrase meant but he adapted as quickly as he could. It helped that the mortals around him seemed to be unable to see his pitch black wings.

Castiel quickly caught up with Sam and Dean but the problem was that he never knew where they were going to go next.

Which meant he was always one step behind them.

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><p>Castiel crept into the warehouse and immediately smelled gunpowder, salt, and recently burned things.<p>

The Winchesters had been here. Been and gone by the look of things. The ex-angel backed out of the warehouse and made his way back to the sidewalk. A frown was creasing his forehead and his blue eyes were trained on the ground. If he had been only a few minutes earlier, he might have managed to catch them.

Something behind him screamed.

Castiel spun around, trench coat flaring out behind him, and ran back towards the warehouse. He burst through the doors but was again met with the empty room. His blue eyes darted around, up, down, side-to-side, searching for the source of the cry but there was nothing. Scuff marks in the dirt and dust, bullet holes riddling the walls, burn marks in the far corner, but no one else.

The scream came again.

It came from behind the warehouse.

With a snort of disgust at his mistake, Castiel threw himself back out the door and ran right into a large man standing in his path. A large man with red eyes and claws and tiny horns. A demon. Castiel reached for the knife at his back but he was too slow. The large demon's hand shot out and thick fingers curled around his neck, hauling him off the ground so that his feet kicked in the air. Castiel wheezed and pawed at his attacker's wrist but the demon simply hissed and threw him through the air.

Cas tumbled head over heels, his wings flapping and feathers crunching as he tried to straighten himself. All he managed to do was hurt his wings and ended up slamming into the side of another warehouse. He shook his head, trying to shake off the dizziness, and pushed himself to his feet in time to receive a kick.

It had probably been aimed for his head but when he'd stood up, he'd gotten it in the knee. It still hurt. Castiel fell sideways with a shout and crawled away from yet another demon who was attempting to rake him with her claws.

There was shouting coming from behind the warehouse and Castiel scrambled towards it, tugging his knife out as he went. He could sense the other two demons behind him and…something else. A soft burning in the center of Gabriel's Grace, a pulse, a tug.

The Winchesters.

Castiel whipped around the side of the warehouse and ducked a punch that was meant for his face. On instinct, his knife came up and stabbed through the wrist of the demon who'd attacked him. The demon yanked back with a scream and Castiel spun around to lash out at the other two demons from before. He could hear more fighting from behind him, a bang, the crack of a gunshot, words shouted in Latin and the furious screams of banished demons. Cas kept trying to turn in such a way that would give him a view of the fighting but the demons weren't relenting and he couldn't see. But he knew, from the pulse inside him and the sound of the voices, he knew that it was Sam and Dean.

Fire exploded across the dark concrete and Castiel danced out of range, boots skipping across the ground as he tried not to get hit with the rolling wave of heat. A demon, heedless of the flames, took a chance and jumped him. Claws bit into his shoulders and Cas threw himself backwards, slamming them both into the ground and pinning the demon to the cement. It snarled at him, sharp teeth snapping just shy of his ear, and Castiel rolled, flaring his wings wide so that the black feathers caught a hot updraft from the flames and pulled him into the air. The demon leapt to its feet and jumped at him, claws swinging, and Castiel swooped to the side, out of its range. He flipped the knife in his hand and was about to throw it when there was a bang and the side of the demon's head exploded with a shotgun blast. It fell to the ground, dead.

Cas whipped around in midair to see Sam standing definitely at the edge of dying flames, frowning at the dead demon. Those brown eyes darted up and, for a second, lit upon Castiel. Recognition sparked but before it could go any further, a movement behind the youngest Winchester distracted Cas' attention. Another demon, sneaking up on Sam, attempting to stab him in the back.

Fury boiled over and Castiel folded his wings behind his back with a snap, dropping from the sky with the speed of a bullet. He pointed his knife out in front of him, shot right over Sam's head, and slammed into the demon, his blade sinking into its chest up to the hilt.

His momentum carried up further and he flipped over the lifeless body of the demon, skidded across the pavement, rolled through a delicate line of salt and iron. There was a triumphant scream and a demon, who had obviously been trapped by the circle that Cas had just broken, fell upon him. A boot slammed into his face as he fought to get to his feet, claws tore into his shoulders, and to his utter horror, teeth bit and ripped into his feathers.

A hoarse shout in Latin, a screech from the demon, the loud bang of a gun being fired.

Then everything was still.

Cas lay panting on his side on the ground, trying to see how much damage had been done without moving too much. He flexed his fingers, arms, legs, found them whole though the cuts on his arm stung as he move. His face felt swollen and there was blood in his mouth. His wing ached and there was a painful tingle where some feathers had been ripped out but all that aside, he felt whole and nothing was broken. So he decided to try and stand.

Footsteps and then hands were helping him to his feet, "Cas!" A voice of relief and surprise, gruff and pleased, "God, we thought we'd never see you again once those feathered dicks dragged you away! No offense…"

"None taken, Dean," Castiel grunted, turning to send a small smile at the eldest Winchester, "I am very pleased to see you again. It took me a long time to track you down."

"We thought someone was following us." Sam said, flicking the last traces of fire from his fingertips as he approached, a shotgun occupying his other hand, "But we thought it was those demons. That's what we were doing back here; interrogating, trying to find out whose been sending these bastards after us. But we're thinking it's Crowley."

"It might very well have been." Cas said, pushing Dean away so he could stand on his own. He tested his wing, spreading it and then folding it again. It hurt a little but it would be fine, "I was told that both Heaven and Hell are hunting you."

"Heaven too?" Sam's brow furrowed, "We haven't seen any angels but they're easier to keep at bay than demons are. No offense or anything, Cas, but your brothers aren't very creative."

"Thinking outside the box never taught in angel school, huh?" Dean asked as he yanked Castiel's knife out of the dead demon, inspected it, and then tossed it to the ex-angel.

"It is not encouraged." Castiel answered, cleaning the blood off his blade before stowing it away. His blue eyes darted around and then looked to Sam, "Did…did Veles…?"

Sam bit his lip, "I'm really sorry but…he didn't make it. We buried him in the clearing."

Castiel's shoulders slumped. Another victim of a pointless war. There was an awkward silence where no one knew where to look and then Dean coughed and straightened his leather jacket,

"Welp, as much fun as this reunion is, we should really get out of here. No doubt somebody's called the police and I _do not_ want another mess like St. Louis." He looked hopefully at Castiel, "You're coming with us, right dude?"

Cas smiled, a small thing, barely there at all, "Of course I am. I would not have come all this way if I was not going to go with you. You're my family, Dean, Sam. I do not have anyone else."

Sam smiled and Dean made a show of groaning and rolling his eyes, muttering about chick-flick moments. Sam chuckled and punched him in the shoulder. Dean shrugged him off, turned to the corpses of the demons, and snapped his fingers. Flames leapt from his hands and eagerly ate away at the bodies.

"Nothin' burns faster 'in hellfire," Dean nodded with satisfaction and then looped an arm around Sam and Cas' shoulders, "Come on, ladies, we've got places to be, people to save, and women to bang."

"I do no understand what that means, Dean."

"Well, ya' see Cas, when a man and women get these urges—."

"Dean, don't you _dare_."

"What? He's not exactly an angel anymore, it's not like it's going to corrupt him or anything. Look, if you're going to get all prissy about it, I'll start him out on something easy. Like soft porn."

"Dean!"

"What is soft porn?"

"You don't want to know…"

"Sure he does!"

Dean laughed as Sam started lecturing him and Castiel walked between them, looking slightly lost and confused. The trio stepped out of the darkness between the warehouses and into the yellow-orange burn of the streetlamps. There was some arguing about who got to sit where in Dean's Impala but eventually Castiel simply crawled into the back seat and sat there silently until the other two got in.

Then, as the engine revved and Kansas started spilling from the speakers and the first splinters of pale, pink-yellow dawn light began to creep over the horizon, the sleek, black car backed out onto the street and headed out of town, taking with it two men who used to be Demon Lords with all the powers of Hell at their command, an angel who had become a demon and was now something a little more than human, and three brothers.


End file.
